He called several times, scared to death: people ringing his door bell, police types walking around his hallway. I told him to stay on the phone, not to open the door, and if the situation would worsen, I would come to his apartment building and see what I could do to get the agents to walk away. It never got to that point, but he lives in fear of being put away in one of those prisons where the immigrants are kept locked. Often, the “system”, in order to make money extends the stay of the immigrants and moves them around the nation from one institution to another, delaying the judicial process, kept in limbo. One day, he walked away, never hearing from him again. I know he is ok. His social web page is full with mementos: photos of dinner parties in his expensively furnished and slick apartment in the location, location, location area with a name to be dropped; cocktail parties in the latest hipster’s bar in ArHo, hanging out with much younger friends who are not aware of his legal worries; attending a rock concert in Webster Hall, dressed-up in cutting edge clothes, quite different from the avocado green, one piece overall suits worn by immigrant inmates in the jails, that are owned by private companies, not appearing in Facebook.
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