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ONE As I sit here in my cell, I feel compelled to write down the events of mymiserable life over the past long months. It is late at night and my cubicleis lit by a flickering pale light bulb, giving me just enough illuminationto see my words as I scratch them on the cheap paper. Perhaps they will maketheir way back to the States and someone who knew me will come to get me. Yesand pigs can fly. I steal this brief moment to record my thoughts before theycome to get me. I pause and a shudder runs...