My beating heart stopped. He was huge. Tall, broad-shouldered, but not dense. His almost black hair, which curled over his ears, needed a trim. Dark eyebrows, dark stubble, dark eyelashes and eyes. And he was handsome. The kind of beauty that can break hearts. The deck of cards was divided in his hands, frozen in the shuffle. Some of the men were in dark blue uniforms, some in dark blue T-shirts, some in white T-shirts. This man was wearing a T-shirt that said “COUSINS” on the front and the number 802267 above. These numbers were imprinted in my memory for a long time. He watched me. But not like everyone else. If he was trying to imagine me naked, it was hard to read on his face, although his attention was not elusive. His head turned as I passed him, but there was indifference in his eyes. They were half closed, but still tense. A hundred looks in one. And I didn't like it. I couldn't figure it out. At least with the sexually anxious look, I knew what I was dealing with. I wondered what the worst thing you could do would be to end up in a maximum security prison. I hoped that I would never know the answer to this question. And I prayed to heaven that prisoner 802267 would not sign up for some kind of daily program.