Faggot For Cell Block 69 Your anxiety increased as the minutes passed, and you momentarily wondered if you had been forgotten. But considering you were never really alone—between scowling guards and cameras—you knew that was impossible. Standing there, you pondered in retrospect how strange it was that you had become almost comfortable with the dizzy feeling and the gnawing in your stomach, those ever-persistent feelings that have never gone away totally—only varying in degrees—since the day you got arrested for a crime you swear to this day you did not commit. And you really didn’t… you were, in fact, innocent. The events that unfolded, landing the blame on you, landing you in this place, were utterly unreal; surreal, but it happened nonetheless. All appeals used up, and now standing there, the nausea you had grown used to was increasing—even causing you to belch—as you waited to meet the Warden. The banging of a metal door behind you startled you as a guard came up and grabbed your arm. “Time for you to meet the Warden!” he snarled, gripping you tightly around your slender, pretty much hairless arm. “Ever heard the expression ‘b in the water’?” he asked you, mocking you, looking you up and down—not really asking. “Because that’s exactly what you’re going to be in this place.” He laughed, pulling you towards a door clearly marked WARDEN. 23 minutes
