He strode back without speaking. Pontiac sat on the top bunk, his big bare feet hanging over the side. He rolled another cigarette. Gary glanced at Mumford doing pushups.
The doors clanged shut. Gary and Pontiac repeated the scene at two and three o'clock. At the four o'clock count Pontiac was asleep.
As the night guard checked the blocks each hour and talked to the street cops who brought in prisoners and the woman who worked the front desk, while the lights at the corner clicked from green to yellow to red and the kids drove past - the men of D Block dreamed like summer campers.
They dreamed of being twenty feet to the north.
What could that be like? They had never been there. They had each been born in jail. They had never seen their mothers or held their children. They had always known Burton, always known his name. He had always been there in the morning, telling them when to eat, to read, to watch television.
They dreamed of clouds, flying up through the clouds, falling down into clouds and bouncing lightly.
They dreamed of playing softball and baseball. Their dogs licked their faces as they slept. They made love to fairy princesses. They told their fathers they loved them and helped their mothers peel apples for pie.
They laughed.
And they smiled, wide, a wonder their faces did not crack and fall to the floor like old pottery during a change in the weather.
They cried as it came near the time they had to leave their loved ones. They reached out arms and could not reach out because of the bunk or the ceiling.
They moaned and they jerked and they sobbed.
They grabbed themselves, not wanting to walk down the cold upstairs hall to pee.
On the precipice of their dreams they heard the school custodian's whistle down the hall.
They heard the jingling of a little brother's toys in the living room.
Mike from making strange references. The Russian media under communists was at least cheap and on the state retainer. As such it was worth its money and still, if we disregard official propaganda the actual linguistic, social and even economic levels were very high. It was a national media. Our media are whores. They work for pimps. There is a difference.
by
Mark Sashine (53 articles, 19 quicklinks, 249 diaries, 3570 comments)
on Friday, June 15, 2007 at 1:47:52 PM
Must Read (
Well Said (
News (
Touching (
Funny (
Supported (
Interesting (
Inspiring (
Valuable (
