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A guard called out to her,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "Hey,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], you! Time's up. Get out.''
Tracy stepped out of the shower; and another prisoner took her place. Tracy was handed a thin, worn towel and half dried her body.
When the last of the prisoners had showered,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], they were marched to a large supply room where there were shelves of clothes guarded by a Latino inmate who sized up each prisoner and handed out gray uniforms. Tracy and the others were issued two uniform dresses, two pairs of panties,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], two brassieres,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], two pairs of shoes, two nightgowns,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], a sanitary belt, a hairbrush, and a laundry bag. The matrons stood watching while the prisoners dressed. When they had finished,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], they were herded to a room where a trusty operated a large portrait camera set on a tripod.
"Stand over there against the wall."
Tracy moved over to the wall.
"Full face."
She stared into the camera. Click.
"Turn your head to the right."
She obeyed. Click.
"Left." Click. "Over to the table."
The table had fingerprint equipment on it. Tracy's fingers were rolled across an inky pad,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], then pressed onto a white card.
"Left hand. Right hand. Wipe your hands with that rag. You're finished."
She's right, Tracy thought numbly. I'm finished. I'm a number. Nameless, faceless.
A guard pointed to Tracy. "Whitney? Warden wants to see you. Follow me."