Page 91 - Maj 2020 PDF
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been used. He pulls out a long roll of plastic mugs from the closet, and picks out

                   one, fills it with water and places it in front of Janokovic.
                     "Here you go," says the old man.

                     "Thanks."

                     Janokovic downs the water in big slurps; the two prison officers look at him
                   impatiently, then, interchangeably glancing the big clock hanging above the office

                   door.

                     Janokovic lifts himself from the chair with very slow movement, picks up the
                   package that Albrecht had placed on the table, walks a few steps towards the

                   door where he is waiting for him.
                     "We are going to your cell now, boy," says Albrecht as he opens the door into

                   the hallway.

                     They walk through a pair of massive metal doors, which the old Albrecht has to
                   unlock every time with his big bundle of keys, in order to proceed. Finally they

                   arrive in a large round hall, as Jano looks up, he can conclude that five floors

                   constitute the hall alongside a hallway on each floor.
                     “We just need to register, then you’ll receive your number here,” says Albrecht,

                   as he’s heading towards a small office in the middle of the building.
                     “Welcome, your jail number is 510. Tomorrow it will be stitched on your

                   prison-jacket - which is here by the way." The old man hands Jano his prison

                   clothes, whilst the big lad sitting in the office pushes a sign with the number 510
                   inscribed.

                     Janokovic tries to nod at the big man, but he has already turned his back on him

                   and closed the door again. Albrecht walks in front of the steel staircase
                   connecting the various floors. Along the passageway are the cubicles containing

                   criminals. The light that seeps through the windows in the doors gives a strange,

                   eerie glow in the round concrete building.
                     It reverberates as they walk on the metal stairs; the eerie feeling of doom is

                   enhanced by the sound of hundreds of mumbling voices and faint knocking

                   sounds.
                     He hobbles away as best he can. His brain is starting to function again, as if it

                   had been turned off since taking the last gulp of the Jack Daniels bottle he killed
                   off last night. He lets his tongue slip over his right tooth, which is now just some
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