Chapter 17

Pablo's POVAt lunchtime, I could have my meals with my prison colleagues, which was great shit, because the place was noisy and the men were always picking on each other. It was nothing like the warm comfort of the kitchen and the side conversation in which my co-workers kept, leaving me silent.

But I couldn't complain. I wasn't the only one to be forced into that. All I had to do was keep quiet and leave the chaos around me as if it were an unpleasant movie that was on my television.

By my side was Ramirez, eating as if he had just come out of a war. I couldn't be unfair to say that our food wasn't good. She was, but nothing compared to the preparation of a woman. I missed the strong spices and the love that my mother used to use for cooking.

Inside it was all dry and soggy. I did my best in the kitchen, as well as my co-workers, but nothing came out like in the outside world. The prison had its own rules even in food matters.

"Why aren't you eating? " Ramir