There’s no bedtime, technically, but we can’t roam after ten o’clock. It’s not jail. That’s what the guards say constantly: It’s not jail, be glad it’s not jail. Most of us go to sleep early because the children have school the next day plus we have nothing better to do. My room has five bunk beds lining the walls with identical blue plastic mattresses. Below the bunks are plastic bins in which to store our things. Most of us don’t have things. There is one plastic table painted over with a checkerboard and backgammon. We don’t play. There are no pieces to play with, plus none of us know the rules. There is a door that does not lock and Plexiglas windows with chicken wire. Sometimes a child cries at night but is not allowed to sleep with the mother; the guards will come in the middle of the night and break it up. There are too many people here. That’s another thing the guards tell us. They complain that there are too many people and not enough guards and they’re building another place like this not far from here but it is taking too long. The guards complain about it together but we hear it and we tell one another: There are too many people here. We tell each other: This must mean they’ll let us out sooner. Because it seems logical that they’ll let us out sooner if there are too many people. Some of us even beg, Just deport me already.