I get off the bus and walk a few blocks. I stop when I get to a garage-like place and walk to the metal door with brown paint. I turn the knob and walk in. A thousand eyes look at me as I take my place at the end of the long line. When I finally get up to the window, I hand the officer my ID. "I'm here to visit Mr C. Yes, I'm his daughter." I learn that line by heart. The officer hands me a piece of paper with my name as the visitor and my father's as the prisoner. It tells me which floor to go to. As I get on the elevator, a rush of excitement runs through me. Then I go to the eighth floor, look around and see the faces I see here every Sunday and Thursday. There he is. I stand on tiptoe to get a better view since I can hardly see him. He doesn't look like my father. He's got a beard now and he looks a lot weaker. He's the dad that I see through a window. My dad who is separated from the world. The only place he now knows is his room in the prison. When I look deep into his eyes, I see emptiness and pain. It's difficult to hear him through the thick glass and over everyone else who is trying to talk. We try to carry on a normal conversation about simple things including my day and what I'm doing in school, but we mostly talk about how we can't wait until he gets out. After an hour my time is up. We say our good-byes and love-yous. I get on the bus to go home. My favorite place is where my father is--prison. I know, how can prison be anyone's favorite place? But it is because my father is there. It'll no longer be my favorite place once he gets out, though--home will be. The author goes to the prison  _  .
to talk with the officer to visit her father to get a piece of paper from the officer to pay a visit to her favorite place