First I have to lay out a few things to give all of you the full understanding of the situation. So, close your eyes and try to imagine this…
I mean don’t close your eyes because then how the hell would you be able to read this? So just keep your eyes open and try to imagine this.
Bunks In the housing unit here at the prison are one bunk on top of the other. They run in rows from the front of the housing unit to the back. With little other room for a “day room” which consist of a TV. and some phones, and also the “grouping area”.
Back to the rows of bunks… there are four rows. Row one is on a wall. Row two and three are in the middle. Sorta like on an island of bunks where individual can walk through either side of the housing unit through the space between each set of bunks.
Row four is on the opposite side of row one.
I live on one of the island rows. Row three. So as I sit in my little living space in my plastic chair, I face the guy who lives in row two. Everyone who lives on the island rows two and three faces the guy who lives in front of him.
Well, when I moved in close to one year ago, I was afforded the wonderful opportunity to see “dog face” every day multiple times a day.
Dog face has been living in the housing unit longer than me. Who knows how long he has actually been here. I may have spoke to this guy a paragraph of full words in almost the year we have faced one another.
I couldn’t even tell you this guy’s name. But dog face seems pretty suitable. I mean, he does have the face of an ugly mutt.
His close resemblance to a “pug” in the face is only the tip of the iceberg. This guy is a paranoid schizophrenia to the tenth power!
First, I should probably mention that on the first half of the middle row of island bunks, on rows two and three they have been cut down to single bunks. This was done a year or two ago back when the state was concerned with overcrowding in the prisons.
Well, dog faces bunk is in the last of the single bunks and where my bunk is, that is where the double bunks start again. I tell you this because dog faces locker is not the standard tall locker. His is only about half the size as mine. “I know… that’s what she said?” this is very important to the story because “pug mug” spends an eternity every day inside his miniature locker. While he is crotched down doing god only knows what inside of that locker, he becomes seemingly even more suspicious with the constant looking over his shoulder to see who is watching him. And just to fuck with him every time he looks at me, I make it my life’s mission to make sure he believes that I am watching him. Like it is my only concern whatever it is he is doing inside of that locker.
Sometimes I think he is honestly trying to fit himself inside that little locker. Maybe that is his refuge. Or, maybe he is in there constructing a device that could solve the worlds energy problem.
Whatever it is it is strange behavior even by prison standard. I mean, in the close to one year we have been in one another’s company, and because the weird locker action happens on Q every day… YOU KNOW I had to actually really peek him out one time, or more so the inside of his locker just for myself to see what all the excitement was about. My finding could have been a lot more astonishing. I wish I could report that there was a lavish style apartment laid out inside of that locker. Or maybe members only club. Instead, he had just what I thought he would have inside there.
Just the random stock pile of knickknacks some prisoners cherish dearly.
A couple extra rolls of toilet paper… a small reserve of state issued soap…
Four ramen noodles.
Stumbling upon this treasured chest of in foment wealth, I had an epiphany.
This guy is watching guards over Fort Knox.