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MARCHING POWDER

and maybe a grey blanket. At most, there might be a shelf with a few clothes and maybe a book or two, if they were permitted. Apart from that, everything would be completely plain. I also thought there would be several inmates sharing each cell.

I was completely wrong. There were no bars, no concrete floor and no white walls. The cell, although small, was more like a studio apartment and Ricardo obviously lived there on his own, because there was only one bed. The floor was made of wooden boards that creaked wherever you trod, except in the middle, where it was protected by a faded blue carpet. The walls were painted green and covered in posters of naked women. To my right was a single bed that had a thick mattress, colourful sheets and several big, puffy pillows sitting on top. On the far side was an open window that overlooked the courtyard below, and through the left wall a narrow doorway led to a tiny kitchenette.

The biggest shock was how many personal possessions Ricardo had crammed into the cell. There was stuff absolutely everywhere. Beside his bed, a night table was littered with all sorts of items: a lava lamp, an ashtray, a few dog-eared books, a statuette of Jesus crucified on the cross and two half-finished cups of coffee. Empty cigarette packets lay everywhere. Two chairs flanked a wooden table, and from the stack of dirty plates on top, I guessed that this was where he ate. A chest of drawers was piled with books, pens and pencils, as well as toiletry items such toilet paper, skin cream, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush and gel. Dirty clothes were strewn all over the floor, including several pairs of shoes. In the corner was a tiny electric heater. On one wall hung a large mirror. Above it, a clock marked the time. Below it was a power point, from which a messy network of electric cables ran; one up to the roof, one into the kitchenette, one to the lamp, another to a portable stereo. And most incredibly, perched on a large cardboard box at the foot of the bed, was a big-screen television.

I scanned everything again in complete confusion. It was nothing fancy, but everything was so comfortable and so normal that once more I had trouble believing that I was actually in a prison. Ricardo must have noticed my bewilderment.

'You look unhappy,' he said. 'I told you it was messy. I'm sorry.'
'It's not that, it's fine! I just never expected... Well... Is this really your cell? Is this actually where you live?'