A brightly lit hallway.

A buzzer sounds; there is clanking in the distance. Over an intercom can be heard "Prisoner 923-687. Smith, Dana".

Its been four weeks since that fateful day. At this point John could hardly remember the finer details - the fight, the switch... the officer. Despite his attorney's best efforts it had been a quick trial. The dash cam had caught it all: reckless driving, excessive speeding, assaulting an officer and resisting arrest. Deliberations were swift and the judge had been stern, 18 months in the general populations - a warning to white suburban women that there would be no favoritism in this county.

The judge gave John a moment to huge his loved ones goodbye his "best friend" Sara was distraught at the thought of losing someone she considered a sister, but John was shocked to see Dana in his body at the trial as well. She walked up to John and they embraced; she whispered "I know what you did; I found the letter in your pocket. I'm not mad, but know this... the letter is destroyed. I would rather live the rest of my life married to my best friend than a single second as a felon!" John teared up as they pulled her away.

Snapping back to reality John is pushed forward through an open gate into a cold cell; the iron bars clank shut behind him. There are two other women already inhabiting this cell. The first is a large African American woman, she's taller than Dana's 5'7" by several inches, and significantly heavier. The second is a petite Latina who, while shorter and lighter than Dana has significantly more muscle mass and sports several gang tattoos.