Chicken Bone Sunday
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Tatie Wilson opened the envelope and smiled at jumbled printing. Her boy was never much of a writer, but his words warmed a momma’s heart. Phone calls were things that were hard to come by, with long line ups and all. The poor boy was having a rough go of things now, ever since they transferred him to general population.

She frowned at the letter. He said his clothes were shredded, and he needed to fix his own shoes. No new shoes. Imagine that, you’d think the government would take better care of its inmates. Poor boy was practically starving too, asked her to bring him some fried chicken next visitin day.

She sure would. A side of biscuits and mashed potatoes and gravy too, he always appreciated a good meal. Last time she saw him, he was looking too thin, with sores around...

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