For documentary purposes only. The prison I pass on my morning run along the dry Santa Cruz riverbed. Often there are work crews in the yard, prone to obscene gestures directed at each person who passes. When I once mentioned to a Boston acquaintance that I love Tucson, he told me he used to live there. And when I mentioned my morning run, the river, the prison, he told me that he was once a prisoner in that very institution. Um, small world.