bars on them," he added.
 
 "Thank you Lyle."
 
 He shrugged.
 
 "I haven't done anything yet," he said, as if he
 
 wanted to convince himself more than me that he
 
 hadn't made a decision.
 
 "You've given me hope, Lyle. That's doing a
 
 great deal." I smiled at him. He stared at me a
 
 moment, his rust-colored eyes blinking and then he
 
 turned away.
 
 "Go on," he said. "Do what I told you." I went to the female attendant and explained
 
 that I had to go to the bathroom.
 
 "I'll show you where it is," she said when we
 
 returned to the door.
 
 "1 know where it is. Thank you," I replied
 
 quickly. She shrugged and left me. I did exactly what
 
 Lyle said and scurried down the short flight of steps.
 
 The laundry room was a large, long room with cement
 
 floors and cement walls lined with washing machines,
 
 dryers, and bins. Toward the rear were the windows
 
 Lyle had described, but they were high up.
 
 "Quick," I heard him say as he entered behind
 
 me. We hurried to the back. "You just snap the hinge
 
 in the middle and slide the window to your left," he
 
 whispered. "It's not locked."
 
 "How do you know that, Lyle?" I asked
 
 suspiciously. He looked down and then up at me
 
 quickly.
 
 "I've been here a few times. I even went so far
 
 as to stick my foot out, but I. . . I'm not ready," he