Every day for 3 weeks, the Yellow Van used to park outside my building.

Two men would get out, lean against the fence smoking, and looking over.

My heart would start to race, I would see what weapons were to hand.

Luckily for me, there were more urgent cases in the queue in front of me.

My turn never came, the knock on the door...never came.

But like any prisoner on death row will tell you, the waiting is the worst part.