We used to tell inmates, “Carry your anger. Tape two phonebooks together and carry them around to simulate carrying anger.” Then a few of them started using the phonebooks to climb the fence, figuring the bullets would not get through. It is actually brilliant thinking. Too bad they do not apply that brain power to something constructive. Now inmates can not check out phone books from the law library, and housing units only check them out one at a time in exchange for their ID cards.
Count seems to be in a hurry today. He has been distracted and moody; all together unfocused. My camera is charged and ready. There is no telling what he is thinking or planning.
“Hey, Batiste, you in a hurry?” Fowler has a double-hinged gravity-defying bounce to his gay stride. You can almost hear him say, “I’d gladly pay you tomorrow for a cheeseburger today.”
“Yah.”
“Have you got time to drop me at the Extreme Tan?” “You tan?”
“Yah, it makes me look skinnier, and my dick bigger.” “Hey whatever it takes, huh?”
“So, can you?”
“It’s really out of the way, and I’m in a hurry. I’m sure you’ll find somebody else.”
“But they have like four locations. How do you know the one I go to will be out of your way?”
“Because I’m not sure where I’m going just yet.” “What do you mean you don’t know where you’re
going?”
“Later dude. Go make your dick look bigger. Shouldn’t be too tough.”
I almost lost Count from the parking lot, thanks to the compensating clown needing a lift. He was just getting onto Highway 2 as I was pulling onto 14th street. Luckily, I caught the light before it changed. I needed to stay a bit behind him, which was easy. Two-o’clock traffic is not bad at all. Most of the drivers leaving the area are correctional employees.
Count aims his mouth at his speaker phone clipped to his sun visor. “I can’t stay today; I’m in sort of a hurry. I’ve got to stop at Bryan-LGH, the east one. Friend of mine is there, they think he has West-Nile.”
“What happened to him?”
“Hey, somebody is beepin’ in on me, can I call you back?”
“Sure, bye honey.” “Hello?”
“Hey Charlie, could you stop at the Wal-Mart and get a gallon of milk?”
“Sure honey, but I’m going to be running a little late. I’ve got to stop at the hospital to see a guard buddy.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He was camping, and now they think he has West-Nile.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“So far, they think so. He’s young and strong, but it really knocked his dick in the dirt.”
“How late will you be?”
“I’ll still beat you home, Claire.” “Okay, thanks.”
“Bye honey, love you.” “Uh-huh, me too. Bu-bye.”
Count is not on to me yet, but he drives like he is trying to shake a tail. He got off of Highway 2 at Pioneers, and then took 40th street north to A. I followed him into a parking garage at Bryan-LGH East.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” I rhetorically asked myself aloud, “I’m probably wasting my fucking time.” Can I take a camera into a place like this? What the hell? All they can say is turn it off, or take it out. Wait a minute; don’t people take cameras into hospitals all the time…for newborns and shit like that? Screw it; we take our chances.
“Either two people shit in here back to back without wiping or flushing, or somebody has been eating MREs.”
“It’s like parfait. That shit comes out in layers.”
Count seems to be in a hurry today. He has been distracted and moody; all together unfocused. My camera is charged and ready. There is no telling what he is thinking or planning.
“Hey, Batiste, you in a hurry?” Fowler has a double-hinged gravity-defying bounce to his gay stride. You can almost hear him say, “I’d gladly pay you tomorrow for a cheeseburger today.”
“Yah.”
“Have you got time to drop me at the Extreme Tan?” “You tan?”
“Yah, it makes me look skinnier, and my dick bigger.” “Hey whatever it takes, huh?”
“So, can you?”
“It’s really out of the way, and I’m in a hurry. I’m sure you’ll find somebody else.”
“But they have like four locations. How do you know the one I go to will be out of your way?”
“Because I’m not sure where I’m going just yet.” “What do you mean you don’t know where you’re
going?”
“Later dude. Go make your dick look bigger. Shouldn’t be too tough.”
I almost lost Count from the parking lot, thanks to the compensating clown needing a lift. He was just getting onto Highway 2 as I was pulling onto 14th street. Luckily, I caught the light before it changed. I needed to stay a bit behind him, which was easy. Two-o’clock traffic is not bad at all. Most of the drivers leaving the area are correctional employees.
Count aims his mouth at his speaker phone clipped to his sun visor. “I can’t stay today; I’m in sort of a hurry. I’ve got to stop at Bryan-LGH, the east one. Friend of mine is there, they think he has West-Nile.”
“What happened to him?”
“Hey, somebody is beepin’ in on me, can I call you back?”
“Sure, bye honey.” “Hello?”
“Hey Charlie, could you stop at the Wal-Mart and get a gallon of milk?”
“Sure honey, but I’m going to be running a little late. I’ve got to stop at the hospital to see a guard buddy.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He was camping, and now they think he has West-Nile.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“So far, they think so. He’s young and strong, but it really knocked his dick in the dirt.”
“How late will you be?”
“I’ll still beat you home, Claire.” “Okay, thanks.”
“Bye honey, love you.” “Uh-huh, me too. Bu-bye.”
Count is not on to me yet, but he drives like he is trying to shake a tail. He got off of Highway 2 at Pioneers, and then took 40th street north to A. I followed him into a parking garage at Bryan-LGH East.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” I rhetorically asked myself aloud, “I’m probably wasting my fucking time.” Can I take a camera into a place like this? What the hell? All they can say is turn it off, or take it out. Wait a minute; don’t people take cameras into hospitals all the time…for newborns and shit like that? Screw it; we take our chances.
“Either two people shit in here back to back without wiping or flushing, or somebody has been eating MREs.”
“It’s like parfait. That shit comes out in layers.”
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