From Solitary Watch:
I already knew our housing was suspect. I had heard rumbles of overcrowding and had heard of the news stations lurking about the gate. The Department of Corrections was filtering the overflow into the west side gym. It was a decent example of an institutional gym now littered with filthy, wall-to-wall black metal bunks. People were on top of each other literally 24 hours a day. We were confined to our bunks when not on rec (recreation), a measly six hours, spread in increments throughout the day. It was a noisy, fluorescent-blaring box and we were expected to function. This was my first initial realization I was in maximum security and I was in trouble.
Most of us were in limbo, this being the first stop into gen-pop (general population) awaiting our trials and our verdicts.
The not knowing became all-consuming. Fights erupted constantly, usually over phone calls, or stealing food or someone’s girl. After the formal count was conducted at 3 pm, I quickly fastened my jail ID badge onto my left upper chest area, a requirement and a possible Class B disciplinary ticket if not adhered to. I hurried to the bathroom not feeling well—I was having a tough time digesting the cuisine. It wasn’t fit for a queen, or an animal for that matter. Continue reading >>>
|
|
|
|
