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"Where's the salt I requested?" I asked the man who delivered my supper.
"The dietician says salt is bad for your health. She doesn't allow it here."
Jeez Louise, I know salt's bad for your health. But I wanted it anyway. I wanted it on the steak, the ketchup I'm going to put on that steak, the new potatoes, the macaroni and cheese, the jalapeño cornbread, the iced tea, the vanilla ice cream, and even the peach cobbler. This is, after all, my last meal. In twelve hours I'll be executed for a murder I didn't commit. And she has the gall to tell me salt is bad for my health.
"And the warden won't let me smoke a cigarette because he's afraid I'll become addicted."
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