Who brings a Snickers to a prison?
He arrived at the desk in out of the body experience, as if watching someone else walk, talk and finally get committed to the low security ward at the Lincoln Correctional Facility. He was escorted to another desk, where a bald guy in a uniform was asking him to hand in his personal belongings.
“Mr. Parker? Can you hear me?”
“Hmm, ah, what?” Peter snapped out of his faze.
“I asked you to give me any items on your person for me to deposit for the duration of your sentence.”
Peter rummaged though his pockets. A set of keys, a phone, a wallet and a Snickers bar emerged.
“Keyring with three keys”, announced the officer to a secretary who wrote this down while baldie put the items in a see-through bag.
Home, MJs, Ford Escort. All of them useless now.
“Black iPhone 6s”
“Wallet, black leather. Inside a credit card, driver’s license and a stamp coupon to Joey’s Sandwiches.”
Only two stamps to go for my free sandwich. I wonder when it expires.
“A candy bar…”
“Actually, if you don’t mind I could eat that right now”, Peter interrupted.
“Huh? Okay. Matilda, put Mr. Parker’s belongings to the safety locker.”
Who the hell brings a Snickers to a prison…
The Matilda girl gave him a bag consisting of an orange jumpsuit, underwear and soap.
Here we go.
After a rather embarrassing shower, Peter struggled in the locker room to get into his jumpsuit. It took a lot of sweat and strategical placing and he had only gotten the pant-part on. He checked the label to notice they had given him an XS-suit, and it didn’t take a genius to realize there was no chance his 6”2 frame could fit into it comfortably.
“Hey, guard… guy! Could you go get me a bigger suit?”
“Sorry, we’re all out right now. You’ll have to deal with that one for few days till we get more sizes.”
Oh, come on…
More huffing and puffing ensued, and he finally had gotten his hands in the sleeves, resulting the leg of the suit to rise to this not-so-fashionable capri-length. The final frontier was to button the whole thing up, a task which required probably the most effort because of his protruding gut. He laid on the bench exhausted, still not particularly proud of his look of strained up metal buttons.
Screw this, it’s not like I came here for a fashion show.
A guard trying to hide his amusement led Peter to his cell, where awaited a half empty bunk bed. He was assigned to the lower half, partly pleased because the bed did not look that capable of bearing his weight, partly worried because he had no idea who was on the top bunk. The guard informed Peter that other inmates were out in the yard, and he had some time to arrange his things before his cellmate would come back.
Arrange my things?
Peter put the soap on the wobbly nightstand.
Done.
He laid down on the bed and opened up several of the buttons that were digging into his skin and rubbed the red marks on his stomach.
Maybe I’ll go to the yard too. Get super jacked. Start eating like… only eggs or something.
Then his cellmate barged in, interrupting his questionably looking self-massaging.
“Hey, dude, get a room”, he snickered.
“Whoa”, Peter startled and covered his chest with the sheet and then looked up to the door. He was greeted by a skinny black kid, who could not be over 25-years old, and under his loose tank top he could see a part of a stunning chest-piece tattoo revolving around a sunflower.
“A first timer, huh?” the kid said.
“Umm yeah, is it that obvious?”
“First of all, you went in the old ‘we’re out of your jumpsuit size’-trick.”
“So they…? Goddammit.”
“My name is Miles, I see that we are roomies now so as a gesture of good will I’m offering to switch suits. I think I have a larger one on me, so I can hop into that one of yours which ain’t really meant for that waistline.”
“Sure, thanks. Unless this is another trick and I’ll end up without any clothes.”
“Smart thinking. But I promise it isn’t.”
“My name is Peter by the way.”
On the next yard time Peter tagged along Miles to the corner of the prison yard to meet some of his…
Crew? Gang? Homies? Peeps? What even is words?
“So, these are Ben and Porker. Ben and Porker, this is Peter, my new cellmate and fresh meat.”
Peter looked faintly alarmed and waved his hand at the guys almost apologetically.
Apparently Ben was the taller, brooding one with scars all over his pale face. His response to Miles’ introduction was a nod so subtle Peter couldn’t be entirely sure he even registered the information. Porker was a pretty short guy, probably in his early twenties with still some baby fat making his face round. He greeted Peter way more enthusiastically, and even shook his hand.
“Peter, huh? Well, if you’re a friend of Miles’ and ever need anything, I’m your guy”, Porker winked.
Peter looked at Miles with his patented is this guy serious-face.
“Toilet wine, cigarettes, porn, Mary Jane… You name it.”
Peter’s heart sunk at the mention of MJ.
“You know he’s just seen too many prison movies, right? He couldn’t get you even a tooth pick after eating popcorn at movie night”, Miles assured, because he thought that Peter’s difficult look came from wanting to avoid trouble.
“Hah, yeah I figured. And anyway, I quit drinking a while back so no need for the porcelain throne’s finest”, Peter managed to crack.
“What are you in for anyway?” Porker asked.
Peter took in a deep breath.