I had an eight hour furlough before I reported to a converted flophouse on the west side of Chicago. This eight story building was jam-packed with single bed cubicles and one community bathroom per floor, housing returning convicts from both state and federal prisons. It was owned and staffed by the Salvation Army, but closely monitored by the US Marshal’s office, which responded promptly when someone was unruly. Freedom seemed short lived. I was once again living amongst thugs, hooligans, and swindlers. The cheating, delinquent, and careless behavior I’d witnessed in prison was to continue.