A Broken Promise

Prison; the best way to describe it, would be to state it’s an oasis or boredom in a desert of horror’s. However with no apparent horror’s to contend with, I often appreciate the boredom.

Our afternoon recreation period is simply a much needed break from the long days of nothingness. It’s during these times, human beings (even some convicted ones) become social creatures and congregate to tell tales.

The winters here are brutally cold but today it was hot enough for skin to burn, yet not quite hot enough to be unbearable to skin the complexion of my own. I began my short walk across the dirt covered yard desperately trying to spot any form of intelligent life. The stagnant air smelled of cheap cigars and roll your own tobacco. In the distance I could hear an assortment of strained grunts attached to a barrage of clanging weights.

I pass by several simpleton’s having a boring conversation while leaning against the cement wall, then a few idiot’s that were lucky enough to sit comfortably at a table. It’s times like this when I peruse groups of people like many of you might do to shelves of books in a library. I only stop when something interests me, as like the countless printed work’s in existence, prison topics are also infinite.

Many of these jailhouse conversations are run of the mill, others entertaining, and the majority are pure unadulterated bullshit. Then whether you’re incarcerated  or not, there is always that one person who seems to know everything. Another issue is since we’re all in prison, nothing ever changes and the repeat stories happen often. I have to laugh when someone changes an ending or character from the prior time their tale was told. Yet I firmly believe this is why many older convicts are cautious, yet curious about our new additions, as there is a chance of hearing a new set of fables. However, in the midst of the new, old, or repeated tales every so often someone can convey an experience that will stop a group of chatty convicts cold.