These men were not prisoners. They were writers, friends, teachers, creators, lovers, brothers, sons and fathers. In each of these stories lay the foundation of humanity. In word, inflection and intention was the truth: everyone has a story.
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The first time I read Solzhenitsyn's The Cancer Ward I was in the hole for inciting a riot. At the time, I'd served only the first ten years of my life without the possibility of parole sentence.
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