As I walk in it is humid, hard to breathe but oddly cold at the same time. A scent of musk like a pair of wet socks hanging above. Prisoners smell like they haven’t showered in months and look like they haven’t eaten in a decade. Quiet sweeps through the room like a ghost causing a chill. The odd stomach grumble carries through the room. I assumed that as I walked in there would be children crying, but there are no tears left to run. Rows upon rows of skeleton-like men. There is nothing left to hide from others, no modesty. They’ve been stripped of themselves, all of them the same.