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July 12, 2005

Stacy: Doin' Time

We walk around the yard aimlessly, nowhere to go, no place to be. The guards flick their stinger whips at stragglers, keep the herd moving.

Talking is allowed, but most of us have nothing to say. Had it whipped out of us over the years. Newbie up front is a chatterbox. That'll change soon enough.

"You know, I've played the violin all my life," I overheard him say. "I think the thing I miss most, even more than food, is my music."

I laugh to myself. Old man hasn't even been here for a week. He don't know hungry yet.

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