It is a perfect summer day; 80 degrees and clear blue skies dotted with cotton-candy-clouds. Gentle breezes carry the unmistakable scent of the ocean. If I closed my eyes, I'd think we were approaching Martha's Vineyard. Instead, I see the sunlight glinting off the barbed wire that is everywhere.Rikers Island, New York City's main jail complex, is bustling. My companion worries that all lockers are taken. He relieves me of my purse, cell phone and jewelry, which are all considered contraband, and hurries off to store them. A rusty sign warns that we use the lockers at our own risk; the powers that be are not responsible for missing items.More... (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/akoshia-yoba/rikers-island_b_938127.html)
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