“Mr. Asay, do you have any final words?” the man in the suit asked. He had a small microphone leading from his ear down into the collar of his shirt and a Florida Department of Corrections pin shimmered on his lapel.
The man strapped down on the pale blue gurney replied promptly.
“No sir, I don’t. Thank you.”
Outside the cramped execution chamber, rain had just begun to pour down. The faint sound of it could be heard inside.
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