Kosin store electric blanket throw

Kevin's POV The phone stayed on the floor. The minute we found out we threw our toiletries and clothes into a bag and ran out to the car. It was a three hour drive; we'd be there by morning. Why had we chosen to live so far apart? It was a need all of us had; to live in different places meant that we could believe Nick was still alive. That wasn't true, we were just idiotically pretending. Daniele drove because I was rattled and shaking too much. "It's going to be okay," I kept saying to myself. If I said it then it would be true. The lights across the road were somehow calming, a steady stream of stragglers on night trips: business men returning late from work, vacationers from far away trying to catch a glimpse of warmth at the beach, and night owls enjoying their time. Two by two, the lights would move past. I wondered: how were their lives going? Were they haunted by nightmares of death row? The bars, the cement walls, small and uncomfortable beds, everyone has seen pictures of cells, but the pictures never tell the whole story. They leave a lot out, after all, there are five senses, and a picture only covers one. Even movies only cover two. Death row, two words that define me, I spent less than a year there, yet I could write miles of worth of books on it. With the knowledge that death row was most certainly what I had in store, lethal injection. I was held in a high-security prison, in a solitary room. I could hear the taunts of the inmates around me. They scoffed ...