The tall man with the bushy black beard gestured at his dark blue jail uniform. His shirt barely reached his navel, leaving a swath of bare skin above his waistband.
“I’m 6 feet 4. My shirt is like a crop top,” he said to laughter from inmates as jail laundry supervisors listened.
Too small. Dirty. Full of holes. Until now, there was little the inmates of Dorm 45 could do except wear the garments or cut slits to make them fit better.
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