When Kwaneta Harris was a little girl, she dreamed of being a librarian. Books offered a world of possibility and safety, and the hope of one day opening that world to others sustained her throughout her childhood in Michigan. In 1997, she was sentenced to fifty years in prison for killing her abusive partner. Now fifty-two, she has served the past eight years in solitary confinement at Lane Murray Unit, a Texas women's prison. The same solace she found in books at her hometown library is once again keeping her spirit and her mind intact, even within a prison cell. The overwhelming majority of the more than 1.23 million incarcerated people in America are serving sentences of one year or more. And many of them, like Harris, say that access to libraries, books, magazines, and other reading material is both sanity-saving and life-preserving. But navigating the prison library system and obtaining books from the outside can be fraught. |
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Getting good coffee at home is as easy as quality beans and one of these no-brainer machines. |
| Chef Jamal James Kent was on the verge of building a culinary empire. But what the restaurant world really lost was one of its greatest mentors and champions. |
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Man cannot live on flip-flops alone. The basic, beachy style is fine for the seaside—but questionable everywhere else. Yet it remains, for many, the avatar of the summer shoe. Not for you, of course. You're the kind of stylish guy who knows that the footwear spectrum contains multitudes. You see the value of sandals that work for the beach, slip-ons that work for the city—plus something suited for the journey between the two. But even the savviest shopper needs a jolt of inspiration from time to time. So if your go-to summer shoes are feeling a little stale, consider one of these options. |
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Winter really is coming, people. |
| It's not only the sneaker that matters, folks. |
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You first see Larry Bird's jumper up close in December 1984 at the Omni pregame shootaround. Bigger, blonder than on TV, he drains shot after shot, swish after swish. You strain on tiptoes, age eight, and your father scoops you up and sets you on his shoulders and wraps his hands around your ankles. You'll never get closer to Bird, the north star of your youth, but he's present in every debate and stretch of silence with your dad. This is true even on that December night in 1991 when your world stops, spins off its axis, and leaves you on a sidewalk seeing stars. He could not catch you then, for there are places the child must go where the father cannot follow. Your dad pointed beyond Bird to the unfinished project of America. It wasn't a lesson you wanted. It required vision. |
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