“Classmates, I’m off to a banquet with the police.”
Incorrect Memory (II)
“Stop! Don’t come any closer! I can write you up for assaulting an officer!”
It was a middle-aged prison guard yelling, his triangular eyes radiating a frosty stare. A younger, shorter guard stood next to him. The detention center instructor who was guarding me went up to speak to the older guard, smiling sheepishly. Then they started to go through my stuff. All I had was a few books.
“Nothing is allowed,” the older guard said in an authoritative tone.
I looked around. The officers who took me here looked helpless.