[The check is met with a rapid look away, like he's been caught, even though it makes no sense to do that because watching inmates is literally his job. Luck, right, the thing. He mashes the button.
While the machine processes, he throws another glance—just standing here awkwardly, don't mind him—and when it's ready, he slides the door open, and,]
no subject
While the machine processes, he throws another glance—just standing here awkwardly, don't mind him—and when it's ready, he slides the door open, and,]
Uh.
[Behold, the birth of chicken bag.]
Well, it's... not a shirt...