Travelogue / Blues Traveler
The Tampa jail didn’t really look like a jail to Katherine. Though nothing in Florida ever looked quite like she thought it should. She’d grown used to New England, where buildings were old and prepared for winter. Florida was new, flat, buildings always seemed to her to be on the verge of being abandoned or unfinished.
She was thinking about what kind of an animal the building might be, if it were so, when she entered it. She was sure the thoughts had stemmed from years of their father talking about “the belly of the beast.” She frowned at the thought. She spent a great deal of time pushing away thoughts of her family, and yet they, like she, always found their way back together with them.
She knew the drill, who to ask, how to ask, where to sit and wait. Police stations, jail houses, court houses, on some level they were all the same. They were all familiar to her like highways were to truckers, she supposed.
It didn’t really take long before she was being led down a cinder block corridor to a cinder block room, in which she knew Jake would be waiting. She wasn’t completely sure what kind of greeting she’d get this time though. Usually it was Jake himself that called for her.
She took a deep breath before entered.
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