Nothing like a stuffy head to make you ponder the meaning of life. Something else to ponder: Who is that old lady who waits in the prison yard (of a men's prison) every day, sometimes in pouring rain, until someone lets her in? Clearly neither a visitor (if so, she wouldn't be in the yard) nor a member of staff. There is something weird about her. Maybe she is an apparation in a bright blue cloak.
Or maybe she's all in my stuffy head.
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