The Tank at Allan B Polunsky Unit allows the most isolated men a rare chance to be part of the
prison community
As soon as I drive past the East Tempe Church on the outskirts of Livingston,
Texas, I can hear the laugh track on my radio. It’s from “Martin,” a three-decade-old television sitcom. The fictional Detroiters’ racy wisecracks seem incongruous crackling through my car speakers on a winding country road.
When the laughter dies down, the slight Southern lilt of a DJ named “Megamind” cuts in to introduce the next segment.