My name is felon

He wore the moniker felon as he sauntered up the steps to his halfway house on the outskirts of his former neighborhood. He now had no right to decent employment. No protection from usurious fines.  No citizen identity. He was an outlaw. Having been subjugated by the criminal justice industrial complex, he now was going to be segregated by his neighbors.

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Artwork by Glynn B. Cartledge