These weren't your ordinary convicts. They were the best and the brightest. The types who had to turn themselves into prison to prevent their insatiable addiction to consuming as much of their darkest desires. Petra sat among them quiet and innocent. Yet they didn't harm her. If anything, they did the opposite, being courteous and respectful to which Petra knew, deep down, the reason was. She was very much just like them. No. That can't be it. Please don't let that be it. Please don't let that be it. I'm not them. 

Petra saw visions when staring at their faces, disturbing visions sometimes. A modestly dressed blonde lady in her fifties who was actually forty-three. Rubbing crack rocks on her wet pussy, legs spread.  She could never look at her the same ever again. 

"Don't over work yourself," she interrupted Petra's train of scandalous thought.

"Oh...right," was all Petra could mumble.