5th August 04 David and the Grim Reaper
David's fluoxetine prescription commenced on Tuesday. David divulged some things about his life that may have contributed to his mental instability.
When David was thirteen one of his friends put a bullet into a drinking straw and threw it into the air. When it landed it exploded. David watched his friend die as the bullet entered his chin and exited through the back of his head.
At age 17 David woke up to find his fiancée of four years dead. He was arrested and interrogated about her murder for two weeks. An autopsy revealed that she had died from toxic shock syndrome caused by a tampon.
David’s father was murdered – shot dead by a biker gang in Sunnyslope – when David was in his mid-twenties. Last year, his wife, the mother of his five children suffered a rollover car accident. Her spinal chord snapped and she died. His thirty-four-year-old brother is looking after his five children, while David serves a two-year sentence after being caught with a ten-dollar bag of speed.
This week David received a disciplinary ticket, which may cause his stay at SMU2 to be extended. The cover of his decrepit mattress was peeling, so, for comfort purposes, David removed the rest of it. Our cell floor became littered with pieces of what looked like blue confetti. The mess attracted a young Chicano guard. A cell search followed.
The guard instructed me to strip naked and to show him my hands, teeth, armpits and feet. I was ordered to raise my scrotum. Finally, I had to bend over, spread my cheeks and cough. David was instructed to do the same. We were handcuffed through the trap in the door, and moved from the cell in our boxer shorts to a small recreation pen where we played handball.
Upon our return, David was ticketed for destroying state property. He may be charged up to $150 restitution to replace the mattress. Several tickets can jeopardize an inmate’s eligibility for early release. David has pleaded not guilty and he has a hearing next week.
An inmate directly above us tried to commit suicide. The method was not disclosed. He was escorted to a suicide watch room, where, according to David, he will be bound by leather handcuffs and have his legs chained down. One arm will be unbound during meals so that he can scoop the food into his mouth. David has been to suicide watch rooms on two occasions. He once tried to kill himself at the county jail by drinking bleach.
I received the peanut butter I ordered. I’m only allowed twelve ounces per week. The Diet Request Form finally arrived so my vegetarian diet should be up and running soon. David got so hungry that he traded his library allowance (one book per two weeks) to me, for half of a twelve-ounce bag of Granny Goose Dip Chips (more commonly known in England as "plain crisps").
I have many insect bites on my head, legs and arms but they are not too uncomfortable – only mild suffering. I’m not sure if the black earwig that I found in my bedding caused them. The variety of insects here is far more enjoyable to look at than the cockroaches at the jail. Some of the louder inmates have moved on so things have quietened down a little at nighttimes. I expect that I’ll be here for at least two more months.
Sunday, September 5, 2004
29th July 04 Super Maximum Unit
A group of us were moved to a super-maximum unit (SMU2) in Florence, Arizona. The journey from Alhambra to SMU2 took approximately one hour, during which I admired the desert and mountain landscapes. Arizona's most dangerous prisoners are housed at SMU1 and SMU2. These include some of the leaders of the Aryan Brotherhood and the Mexican Mafia. The guards here all wear shank-proof vests and protective glasses. Wearing such garb has earned them the name "ninja turtles". All inmates are strip-searched and handcuffed before leaving their cells.
My first cellmate was a satanic priest called Lucifer who had a pentagram tattooed on his forehead. But within one hour of my arrival he was rolled up back to the county jail to face additional charges. Lucifer generously gave me a 335-page Leonardo da Vinci biography. As I was completely bookless, the gesture was appreciated. His institutional score was the highest, 5-5, and my neighbours explained he was in for murder, part of a cult that was drinking blood and eating human body parts.
After Lucifer departed, David, the suicidal inmate from Alhambra, appeared smiling at my cell door. He is now my cellmate. Because of his depression, he sleeps for approximately 20 hours each day, so our cell is quiet. Unfortunately, the neighbours create all kinds of noise into the small hours, which has made getting to sleep have its difficulties. They heckle, joke and converse about bizarre things. Last night they had a debate about who had the biggest "booty size" out of Catherine-Zeta Jones, J-Lo and Selina.
The only insect houseguests thus far have been a cricket, a beetle (an unusual-looking specimen) and a few tiny white flies that look like specs of dust. The beetle was bulbous and chestnut coloured. It crawled around slowly on six furry legs. I watched with great interest as it patrolled the room.
My request for a vegetarian diet has not yet been approved. I am dizzy with hunger. David is the lucky beneficiary of double meat rations. I’ve ordered twelve ounces of peanut butter from the store list, which I’m hoping to receive next week.
I’ve adjusted my yoga routine to nighttimes so that I’m doing something constructive when my neighbours are causing the most noise. I'm finding that standing on my head has a soothing effect on my brain. I read and write in the daytime. Fortunately, Lonely left behind a blank Library Book Request Form, which I submitted immediately. I received Plato 1 the next day. Plato 1 is a 478-page book from the Oxford Readings in Philosophy series. It is as if by providence that I am supplied an educational book just when I need it the most.
A group of us were moved to a super-maximum unit (SMU2) in Florence, Arizona. The journey from Alhambra to SMU2 took approximately one hour, during which I admired the desert and mountain landscapes. Arizona's most dangerous prisoners are housed at SMU1 and SMU2. These include some of the leaders of the Aryan Brotherhood and the Mexican Mafia. The guards here all wear shank-proof vests and protective glasses. Wearing such garb has earned them the name "ninja turtles". All inmates are strip-searched and handcuffed before leaving their cells.
My first cellmate was a satanic priest called Lucifer who had a pentagram tattooed on his forehead. But within one hour of my arrival he was rolled up back to the county jail to face additional charges. Lucifer generously gave me a 335-page Leonardo da Vinci biography. As I was completely bookless, the gesture was appreciated. His institutional score was the highest, 5-5, and my neighbours explained he was in for murder, part of a cult that was drinking blood and eating human body parts.
After Lucifer departed, David, the suicidal inmate from Alhambra, appeared smiling at my cell door. He is now my cellmate. Because of his depression, he sleeps for approximately 20 hours each day, so our cell is quiet. Unfortunately, the neighbours create all kinds of noise into the small hours, which has made getting to sleep have its difficulties. They heckle, joke and converse about bizarre things. Last night they had a debate about who had the biggest "booty size" out of Catherine-Zeta Jones, J-Lo and Selina.
The only insect houseguests thus far have been a cricket, a beetle (an unusual-looking specimen) and a few tiny white flies that look like specs of dust. The beetle was bulbous and chestnut coloured. It crawled around slowly on six furry legs. I watched with great interest as it patrolled the room.
My request for a vegetarian diet has not yet been approved. I am dizzy with hunger. David is the lucky beneficiary of double meat rations. I’ve ordered twelve ounces of peanut butter from the store list, which I’m hoping to receive next week.
I’ve adjusted my yoga routine to nighttimes so that I’m doing something constructive when my neighbours are causing the most noise. I'm finding that standing on my head has a soothing effect on my brain. I read and write in the daytime. Fortunately, Lonely left behind a blank Library Book Request Form, which I submitted immediately. I received Plato 1 the next day. Plato 1 is a 478-page book from the Oxford Readings in Philosophy series. It is as if by providence that I am supplied an educational book just when I need it the most.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
22nd July 04 Deadly diseases
My cellmate, David, responded to his hepatitis C result by popping a cocktail of pharmaceutical pills. Shortly after, he had a seizure. His contorted trembling body was carted away, but he survived.
The jail staff did not teach inmates about how diseases are spread. Diseased inmates are housed with healthy inmates. They share nail clippers (1 per 100 plus inmates), hair clippers, tattoo guns, syringes and other personal effects. I witnesses inmates with diseases serving chow. David would probably not have contracted this disease – which may shorten his lifespan – if some simple preventative measures had been in place. David is coming to terms with possibly having to die before his time.
The small amount of money that it would take to put preventative measures in place is surely worth less than David’s life. The average taxpayer may complain about paying for the upkeep of the jails, but the medical bills incurred by David and many other inmates in his situation will add far more to the taxpayers’ burden in the long run. It sickens me that this is being allowed to happen.
Today, I watched an inmate refuse to give a DNA sample. He was surrounded and strapped into a chair. The sample was taken.
My cellmate, David, responded to his hepatitis C result by popping a cocktail of pharmaceutical pills. Shortly after, he had a seizure. His contorted trembling body was carted away, but he survived.
The jail staff did not teach inmates about how diseases are spread. Diseased inmates are housed with healthy inmates. They share nail clippers (1 per 100 plus inmates), hair clippers, tattoo guns, syringes and other personal effects. I witnesses inmates with diseases serving chow. David would probably not have contracted this disease – which may shorten his lifespan – if some simple preventative measures had been in place. David is coming to terms with possibly having to die before his time.
The small amount of money that it would take to put preventative measures in place is surely worth less than David’s life. The average taxpayer may complain about paying for the upkeep of the jails, but the medical bills incurred by David and many other inmates in his situation will add far more to the taxpayers’ burden in the long run. It sickens me that this is being allowed to happen.
Today, I watched an inmate refuse to give a DNA sample. He was surrounded and strapped into a chair. The sample was taken.
18th July 04 Reception Centre
I am a "fish" – someone new to the prison system. Here at Alhambra Unit, I’ve been strip-searched, blood tested, TB tested, questioned, photographed, and ordered to give a DNA sample from the inside of my left cheek. I am temporarily housed in a four-man cell that, unlike my jail cell, actually receives cool air. When I see cockroaches, I know they are imaginary ones. Now that the cockroach torture is over, I am sleeping better.
I have two Hispanic and one white cellmates. They sing a lot. Two of them have hepatitis C. One of them just found out yesterday. He thinks he contracted it during his one-year stay at Durango (one of Sheriff Joe Arpaio's jails). The other contracted it by sharing a needle. He is detoxing from heroin use. They sing their blues away. I joined in with some Beatle songs. A fellow in the cell next door slit his wrist this morning. He was discovered and taken to the Medical Unit.
Everyone here is astounded that I was locked up in the jail’s harshest quarters for so long. They are perplexed as to why I am finding things here so comfortable. I feel sorry for the inmates I left behind. I hope to see some of them – including Frankie – come through here soon. After enduring the jail, those inmates can make it anywhere.
*********************
31st Aug 04 Thanks Ste
Thanks Ste Wilkinson (computer whiz kid and family friend) for renovating my blog, inserting my mum’s favourite photo of me from my stockbroking days, and for adding links to Mothers Against Arpaio and a site about Sheriff Joe’s misdemeanours. Ste has also put a comments link into the blog, making it easy for you to give feedback.
I haven’t got access to a computer or the Internet. With a pen refill (we're not allowed a pen as it could be weaponized) I scribble away until my hand hurts. The pen refill is a step up from the jail's golf pencil. I send the blog entries to my parents for typing up and posting. They will forward any emails or comments back to me. It may take a little time for my reply, but I will write back and appreciate hearing from you.
Thanks again Ste, Good lookin’ out, dawg!
I am a "fish" – someone new to the prison system. Here at Alhambra Unit, I’ve been strip-searched, blood tested, TB tested, questioned, photographed, and ordered to give a DNA sample from the inside of my left cheek. I am temporarily housed in a four-man cell that, unlike my jail cell, actually receives cool air. When I see cockroaches, I know they are imaginary ones. Now that the cockroach torture is over, I am sleeping better.
I have two Hispanic and one white cellmates. They sing a lot. Two of them have hepatitis C. One of them just found out yesterday. He thinks he contracted it during his one-year stay at Durango (one of Sheriff Joe Arpaio's jails). The other contracted it by sharing a needle. He is detoxing from heroin use. They sing their blues away. I joined in with some Beatle songs. A fellow in the cell next door slit his wrist this morning. He was discovered and taken to the Medical Unit.
Everyone here is astounded that I was locked up in the jail’s harshest quarters for so long. They are perplexed as to why I am finding things here so comfortable. I feel sorry for the inmates I left behind. I hope to see some of them – including Frankie – come through here soon. After enduring the jail, those inmates can make it anywhere.
*********************
31st Aug 04 Thanks Ste
Thanks Ste Wilkinson (computer whiz kid and family friend) for renovating my blog, inserting my mum’s favourite photo of me from my stockbroking days, and for adding links to Mothers Against Arpaio and a site about Sheriff Joe’s misdemeanours. Ste has also put a comments link into the blog, making it easy for you to give feedback.
I haven’t got access to a computer or the Internet. With a pen refill (we're not allowed a pen as it could be weaponized) I scribble away until my hand hurts. The pen refill is a step up from the jail's golf pencil. I send the blog entries to my parents for typing up and posting. They will forward any emails or comments back to me. It may take a little time for my reply, but I will write back and appreciate hearing from you.
Thanks again Ste, Good lookin’ out, dawg!
Friday, July 16, 2004
13 Jul 04
Sweat, suicide and death
I am still at the jail. A sudden spate of tragedies has compelled me to write this entry.
At the weekend, two inmates on my floor attempted to commit suicide. One threw himself off the balcony and survived. The other was discovered trying to hang himself.
Sadder still, an inmate housed in a medium-security pod was found dead in the shower. Inmates are often "smashed" in the shower area because it is out of view of the cameras. The jail has refused to release the cause of his death.
The temperature outside is 114 degrees. The trickle of air into our cells feels like hot air blowing from a hair dryer. We are soaked in sweat all day and night. It is difficult to write on this sweat-moistened paper. The majority now have skin infections and rashes, which persistently itch. My skin is so soggy from perspiration that when I scratch it the skin detaches and I end up with clumps of it under my fingernails. Between the sweat trickling down my body and the cockroaches tickling my limbs, it is impossible to sleep properly. Last night, while sleeping on my side, my ear filled up with sweat, and when I moved my head, the sweat spilled onto my face. I woke up, startled. It felt like someone was touching my cheek.
I once asked a guard how the jail’s administration gets away with this and his response was, "The world has no idea what really goes on in here."
When I was a small child, I imagined hell consisted of caves in which the damned were trapped, tortured and burnt. I imagined serpents and indescribable creepy crawlies tormenting the captives. I never imagined man's nature could be so hateful as to recreate these conditions on earth.
Sweat, suicide and death
I am still at the jail. A sudden spate of tragedies has compelled me to write this entry.
At the weekend, two inmates on my floor attempted to commit suicide. One threw himself off the balcony and survived. The other was discovered trying to hang himself.
Sadder still, an inmate housed in a medium-security pod was found dead in the shower. Inmates are often "smashed" in the shower area because it is out of view of the cameras. The jail has refused to release the cause of his death.
The temperature outside is 114 degrees. The trickle of air into our cells feels like hot air blowing from a hair dryer. We are soaked in sweat all day and night. It is difficult to write on this sweat-moistened paper. The majority now have skin infections and rashes, which persistently itch. My skin is so soggy from perspiration that when I scratch it the skin detaches and I end up with clumps of it under my fingernails. Between the sweat trickling down my body and the cockroaches tickling my limbs, it is impossible to sleep properly. Last night, while sleeping on my side, my ear filled up with sweat, and when I moved my head, the sweat spilled onto my face. I woke up, startled. It felt like someone was touching my cheek.
I once asked a guard how the jail’s administration gets away with this and his response was, "The world has no idea what really goes on in here."
When I was a small child, I imagined hell consisted of caves in which the damned were trapped, tortured and burnt. I imagined serpents and indescribable creepy crawlies tormenting the captives. I never imagined man's nature could be so hateful as to recreate these conditions on earth.
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
2 Jul 04
Final Entry from the Madison Street Jail.
Periplaneta Americana, more commonly known as the American cockroach, has an average lifespan of 440 days. As of today, I have been a resident of this crowbar motel for almost two cockroach lifespans. I have endured enough. It is time for me to move on, so I have signed myself over to the Arizona Department of Corrections.
Shortly, I will be shipped to Alhambra Unit, an intake facility, where they will decide which prison in Arizona I am to be housed at.
Parents of inmates, horrified by the conditions in the jail, have directed this blog to local groups who are working to get changes made.
Winston Churchill – once a POW in South Africa – stated, "The treatment of prisoners is a good indicator of how civilized a society is.”
Although I shall soon be gone from here, I hope that changes are made so that other unsentenced inmates – who are supposed to be presumed innocent until proven guilty – do not have to be warehoused like animals in such subhuman conditions. When a society treats its prisoners like animals they will behave like animals when they return to society.
During my stay, I have experienced medium security, maximum security, general population and lockdown housing. Outside of lockdown, inmates are warehoused like battery hens. Intravenous drug use is rife (see blog entry 03.06.04 ‘Wedded to Dope’). Hepatitis C, TB, and MRSA proliferate due to inmates being packed together, the high levels of violence, the sharing of needles and tattoo instruments, the unsanitary conditions, and the lack of medical treatment. A racist thugocracy that controls the drug trade regularly holds kangaroo courts; inmates are "smashed" on a daily basis by goons known as "torpedoes."
Temperatures reach over 100 degrees in the summer months, but the air conditioning is rarely active. Throughout the jail labyrinth inmates are deprived of air. Presently, it is hard to stay conscious because the swamp cooler is barely blowing. Inmates are getting sick and being taken for emergency medical treatment. A fellow pod member collapsed earlier today. Here, filth, squalor and disease are the norm. Utilities that are permanently broken, magically work for a few days when the county health inspectors do a "walk through."
Protests were recently held outside of the Madison Street jail because of the conditions. The local news stations countered with some pro-Arpaio propaganda and specifically reported how good the food is. They displayed some carefully-staged fresh and appetising chow. In reality, for the past three weeks, our one lukewarm daily meal has consisted of rotten potato pieces and potato peel (see food blog entry 06.04.04 ‘April Fools Day’ and the incident of the rat’s head, which I saw). I survive by eating nuts that I purchase from the jail, thanks to the generosity of my family and friends who put "money on my books" every week. Most inmates are indigent and have no support from the outside. They exist in a constant state of starvation and are willing to fight over scraps of food.
I have tried to write a frank, first hand account of what I have experienced. Whilst doing so I have also tried to remain upbeat and humorous, and I hope I have not detracted from the suffering here. I would rather cut off my little finger than go through this again.
Suicidal thoughts seem normal for most inmates, including me. But with the support of my family and friends, I have managed to keep such thoughts in the realm of fantasy. Many in here are not so fortunate. They are the lost and forgotten souls you never hear about. Some do take their lives and their voices remain forever unheard of.
Epicurus:
"Pain is neither intolerable nor continuing, provided you remember its limits and do not let your imagination add to it."
Marcus Aurelius:
"Delve within; within is the fountain of good, and it is always ready to bubble up, if you always delve."
Bye for now! When I am resituated in prison, I will resume blogging. Thank you for all of the kind letters of support from all over the world and the visits to the jail I have received. I would like to thank my Aunt Ann for transmitting the blog entries on a weekly basis to my mum who edits and types them out – good lookin' out, Mum! - and my dad, who posts them in as timely a fashion as possible.
Final Entry from the Madison Street Jail.
Periplaneta Americana, more commonly known as the American cockroach, has an average lifespan of 440 days. As of today, I have been a resident of this crowbar motel for almost two cockroach lifespans. I have endured enough. It is time for me to move on, so I have signed myself over to the Arizona Department of Corrections.
Shortly, I will be shipped to Alhambra Unit, an intake facility, where they will decide which prison in Arizona I am to be housed at.
Parents of inmates, horrified by the conditions in the jail, have directed this blog to local groups who are working to get changes made.
Winston Churchill – once a POW in South Africa – stated, "The treatment of prisoners is a good indicator of how civilized a society is.”
Although I shall soon be gone from here, I hope that changes are made so that other unsentenced inmates – who are supposed to be presumed innocent until proven guilty – do not have to be warehoused like animals in such subhuman conditions. When a society treats its prisoners like animals they will behave like animals when they return to society.
During my stay, I have experienced medium security, maximum security, general population and lockdown housing. Outside of lockdown, inmates are warehoused like battery hens. Intravenous drug use is rife (see blog entry 03.06.04 ‘Wedded to Dope’). Hepatitis C, TB, and MRSA proliferate due to inmates being packed together, the high levels of violence, the sharing of needles and tattoo instruments, the unsanitary conditions, and the lack of medical treatment. A racist thugocracy that controls the drug trade regularly holds kangaroo courts; inmates are "smashed" on a daily basis by goons known as "torpedoes."
Temperatures reach over 100 degrees in the summer months, but the air conditioning is rarely active. Throughout the jail labyrinth inmates are deprived of air. Presently, it is hard to stay conscious because the swamp cooler is barely blowing. Inmates are getting sick and being taken for emergency medical treatment. A fellow pod member collapsed earlier today. Here, filth, squalor and disease are the norm. Utilities that are permanently broken, magically work for a few days when the county health inspectors do a "walk through."
Protests were recently held outside of the Madison Street jail because of the conditions. The local news stations countered with some pro-Arpaio propaganda and specifically reported how good the food is. They displayed some carefully-staged fresh and appetising chow. In reality, for the past three weeks, our one lukewarm daily meal has consisted of rotten potato pieces and potato peel (see food blog entry 06.04.04 ‘April Fools Day’ and the incident of the rat’s head, which I saw). I survive by eating nuts that I purchase from the jail, thanks to the generosity of my family and friends who put "money on my books" every week. Most inmates are indigent and have no support from the outside. They exist in a constant state of starvation and are willing to fight over scraps of food.
I have tried to write a frank, first hand account of what I have experienced. Whilst doing so I have also tried to remain upbeat and humorous, and I hope I have not detracted from the suffering here. I would rather cut off my little finger than go through this again.
Suicidal thoughts seem normal for most inmates, including me. But with the support of my family and friends, I have managed to keep such thoughts in the realm of fantasy. Many in here are not so fortunate. They are the lost and forgotten souls you never hear about. Some do take their lives and their voices remain forever unheard of.
Epicurus:
"Pain is neither intolerable nor continuing, provided you remember its limits and do not let your imagination add to it."
Marcus Aurelius:
"Delve within; within is the fountain of good, and it is always ready to bubble up, if you always delve."
Bye for now! When I am resituated in prison, I will resume blogging. Thank you for all of the kind letters of support from all over the world and the visits to the jail I have received. I would like to thank my Aunt Ann for transmitting the blog entries on a weekly basis to my mum who edits and types them out – good lookin' out, Mum! - and my dad, who posts them in as timely a fashion as possible.
24 Jun 04
AK’s Karma
Frustration with AK climaxed on Monday morning. No one could sleep thanks to our resident cantante singing musica romantica for hours on end, interspersed with gunshot sound effects and feminine shrieks of "Sinaloa!" Enough was enough.
At the behest of the majority, Frankie implemented a plan to oust AK from our pod.
He had Cupcake borrow AK’s most valuable possession: a new radio. When Cupcake refused to return it, a dispute ensued. Frankie and Cupcake cackled at AK’s invective, and AK exploded. Pounding on his cell door, he yowled at the two unsympathetic guards, “They stole my fuckin’ radio!”
“Why’d you lend it to 'em?” enquired Officer Bloch.
“I thought they’d give it back,” AK said, emphasising each word.
“Lending your stereo to other inmates is against the Inmate Rules and Regulations!”
“Roll yer stuff up! You’re being moved!” Officer Perez ordered.
Walking toward the pod door, AK suddenly dropped his mattress. Before the guards could stop him, he dashed to Cupcake’s cell and yelled, "Gimme my fuckin' stereo back, you scheming fuckas!”
The guards restrained him. As they briskly steered AK out of the pod, applause from the cells rose to the ceiling of the day room.
My right shin looks like I spilled battery acid on it. A cluster of thirty or so red sores emerged last week when we were denied showers for four days. Some are bleeding, but I’m reluctant to make an appointment with the penis-grabbing Filipino doctor.
Half of the shower area is refusing to drain. Hair matted with semen has clogged it up. To shower, I had to step into the puddle of scum. This disturbed the multitude of tiny black flies ensconced on the white clumps and they formed a cloud around my head. Fortunately, they bolted when the shower was turned on and migrated to the dried fruit peel in the trashcan. When the water was turned off, they abandoned the fruit peel and returned to the shower. The flies prefer the semen.
AK’s Karma
Frustration with AK climaxed on Monday morning. No one could sleep thanks to our resident cantante singing musica romantica for hours on end, interspersed with gunshot sound effects and feminine shrieks of "Sinaloa!" Enough was enough.
At the behest of the majority, Frankie implemented a plan to oust AK from our pod.
He had Cupcake borrow AK’s most valuable possession: a new radio. When Cupcake refused to return it, a dispute ensued. Frankie and Cupcake cackled at AK’s invective, and AK exploded. Pounding on his cell door, he yowled at the two unsympathetic guards, “They stole my fuckin’ radio!”
“Why’d you lend it to 'em?” enquired Officer Bloch.
“I thought they’d give it back,” AK said, emphasising each word.
“Lending your stereo to other inmates is against the Inmate Rules and Regulations!”
“Roll yer stuff up! You’re being moved!” Officer Perez ordered.
Walking toward the pod door, AK suddenly dropped his mattress. Before the guards could stop him, he dashed to Cupcake’s cell and yelled, "Gimme my fuckin' stereo back, you scheming fuckas!”
The guards restrained him. As they briskly steered AK out of the pod, applause from the cells rose to the ceiling of the day room.
My right shin looks like I spilled battery acid on it. A cluster of thirty or so red sores emerged last week when we were denied showers for four days. Some are bleeding, but I’m reluctant to make an appointment with the penis-grabbing Filipino doctor.
Half of the shower area is refusing to drain. Hair matted with semen has clogged it up. To shower, I had to step into the puddle of scum. This disturbed the multitude of tiny black flies ensconced on the white clumps and they formed a cloud around my head. Fortunately, they bolted when the shower was turned on and migrated to the dried fruit peel in the trashcan. When the water was turned off, they abandoned the fruit peel and returned to the shower. The flies prefer the semen.
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