Just a Quick Pic

When I look out my office window, I stare across the street into the windows of the holding center, a temporary detention facility for defendants awaiting trial. The fact that I walk out of my building some days and come face to face with the family members of persons I am prosecuting is not lost on me.

But some days it provides amusement. I was crossing the street back to my office from the side with the holding center on it. A woman sat in her car, cell phone aimed at the holding center's windowed facade. I didn't think about it until I crossed between her and the building.

"Hey," she said.

I looked at her.

"Do you mind?"

"Mind what?"

"I'm taking a picture here."

I look at where the camera was facing and see a young male in the street, holding up a plastic bag with his name on it. I recognize it immediately as the personal property bag jailed defendant's possessions are housed in. He's holding it up towards his mother and smiling.

"It's his first time being locked up," she said.

I apologized for the intrusion and walked away, hoping that the single photograph is not the beginning of a lifelong album.

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