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Loughner: "Would that include [firing] the police chief if he was found culpable?"
Diaz: "Well, I don't think that's going to happen."
Loughner: "Nonetheless, if he was."
Diaz: "Again you're diverting your attention to the wrong focus. You guys have it in for the chief. I think the chief did an excellent job and I support him."
Loughner: "Thank you."
The woman who calls herself Bork chose not to dog Mayor Diaz last month when she returned to Miami for her trial. Instead she turned her attention to a new target: the conditions at the Miami-Dade County men's jail (1321 NW Thirteenth St.) and the women's jail (1401 NW Seventh Ave.). After the judge threw out her case, Loughner spent several days interviewing men and women as they exited the facilities. "This is one of the worst jails I've seen in my life!" a guy named Paul told her one morning. "There's people sleeping right where you urinate.... They give blankets but they never wash them!"
"I can break it down to one word: horrific!" offered a man named Artie. "It's cold in there! There's urine and shit all over the place."
Loughner recruited several young FTAA protesters to continue taking testimonials outside the jails as part of a new activist group she's calling the Miami Prisoners Solidarity Network. "We're taking on the prison system," she declares, adding that she'll be coming back to town, maybe even permanently: "In a few months I might move down here. I guess Timoney really will regret arresting me."