I've been arrested for some crime, which I didn't commit, and I'm waiting in a crowded detention center. Unfortunately, I also have a small baggie in my pants pocket. I try to figure out how to get rid of it in the crowd. There is a table next to one wall where there are various small objects--ashtrays, etc. I surreptitiously lift one and place the baggie underneath it. A few moments later one of the police comes by and pokes around on the table, eventually lifting the ashtray and finding the baggie. I affect nonchalance. He hands it to me and asks if it's mine. I'm happy to pick it up, since that means my fingerprints will have a legitimate reason for being on it. I deny ownership.
Nevertheless I next find myself in prison. There are men and women both there, and various disguting things occur--one prisoner shits on the valued comic book of another, for instance. As I look around at the haggard and disturbed faces I realise that they are all crazy, that in fact all prisons are insane asylums.
I wake distressed.
No comments:
Post a Comment