Winter Games

Many inmates don’t work out. They just stand around freezing to death. They don’t use the phone, which leads me to believe they were so foul when they were out no one wants to bother with them, or possibly they get their dose of human affection without dealing with the outside world. I have not led anything remotely close to a sheltered life, and have met my share of gay people before coming to prison and far more while in it. They’re just as decent or not so decent as the straight people I know, but watch a different kind of porn. Yet, whatever the next man does behind closed doors (or cells for that matter) doesn’t affect me, so I’m happy they’re happy.

One fateful night, I’m waiting on the phone line in the normal minus degree weather. The wind is blowing the snow around in what could only be called whiteout conditions. This is the only time I wear sunglasses – especially at night. It has nothing to do with the song; I simply refuse to walk around with those stripes on the side of my head, which would make me look like a cross between a mutant skunk and the abominable snowman.

The sunglasses cut down on the glare and the amount of frozen ice particles flying in your eyes, then taking into consideration I’m in prison, I want to see as much around me as possible. While waiting in line, I was conscious several people were behind me. Since I didn’t speak to the majority of them a frozen conversation was out. However, as I waited, it appeared as though they were disappearing. They didn’t walk past me, they couldn’t have just retreated to my side, and behind me was a pile of snow some eight feet high and thirty feet across. A few minutes go by. Two more people join the line; seconds later, gone.