He assured me he would only take a few minutes; just enough time to trim his toenails. That’s why I agreed. We, the jail chaplains, had access to nail clippers, a luxury which the inmates did not possess. It was another service we provided! I had just finished a three-hour art session. The clock had struck 4:00 p.m. on that last Friday of October, and I needed to get out of jail as quickly as possible. I still needed to rush to the market for that evening’s dinner. I anticipated the crowds due to Halloween.
While David meticulously cut his toenails in my office, my mind went through the shopping list: onions, potatoes, tomatoes, fish—yes, it was Friday, no meat tonight. Amid my mental checklist, I heard David’s voice breaking the silence.
“Chaplain, I heard you are from Malta,” he said.
I confirmed his question with a nod.
“I have been in Malta,” he continued.
Encountering someone in an American jail who had visited my native Island was incredibly rare. By now, I had forgotten whether I intended to buy tilapia or bass. Now I was curious, so I shifted my chair closer to David.
