Jonah examined the newest piece of lint he'd mined from his navel. He'd been at it for ten minutes, and was fairly certain this would be the last of it. Ever decreasing volume, ever increasing extraction time, ever less interest in the task. The small pile resting on his sternum did make him rethink his original volume estimates, though. He was tired and knew with sleep the time would pass faster, but he'd been delaying sleep since he was a boy, always fighting for another five minutes, another ten minutes.
Besides, it hardly mattered that he wanted to escape for a spell. He'd no guarantees his dreams would be escape.
A ghost danced in the periphery, and Jonah turned to catch it. Straining against the gloom, he tried to focus on the photo of Marisa taped to the mirror. Gingerly, he felt his way round the picture, as though crossing an unfamiliar room in the dark. Staying a few degrees off center, in the halo around the picture, he could just make out a curve of auburn hair against an alabaster face and the red moue of her lips (playing to the camera, never taking herself seriously) - varying shades of gray to his eyes, but memory filled in where senses left off. Comforted by the recollection of her face and happier days, he finally let himself look directly at her and she faded into the darkness of the cell. Javier shifted in the bunk above and his breathing grew more labored.