18 August 06
Living in prison is like being in a video game that can scroll to a different level at any time. When such moves occur, whatever routine you established is disrupted. You worked hard to be accepted where you were at. You built rapport. You developed friendships. You learned who it was safe or dangerous to be around. Then suddenly everything changes.
“Dog 11, roll your shit up. You’re goin’ to minimum.”
It’s finally happening, I thought. I'm moving to Yard 1. It seems unreal. I’m trembling. Take deep breaths. It’s the end of an era. The era of Two Tonys, Xena, and Slingblade. How are my friends going to take it? Will I be able to blog them still? Will I get a single cell at Yard 1? Get a grip. Everything will be fine.
I wrote ten sides of paper on the farewells. Here are some exerpts:
“Say hi to Weird Al for me,” Shane said.
“I love you, brother,” T-Bone said, and bear-hugged me.
Xena’s lengthy hug spoke louder than his words.
“I love you, man,” Two Tonys said. “Outta all the motherfuckers I’ve ever met, you’ve changed my way of thinkin’ the most.”
“But ultimately you’ve changed your way of thinking.” I said and hugged him.
“You need to take some fuckin’ credit. And stop bein’ so fuckin’ humble.”
“Alright, I’m glad I helped you.”
“That’s more fuckin’ like it.”
“I had a feeling something was going to happen today,” Jack said. “Who am I going to have deep conversations with now?”
“Let’s make love,” Frankie said, “real quick in my cell, Englandman.”
“I’ll dee-cide who I make love to, and it’s going to be with a woman,” I said.
“I’ve dee-cided we need to French kiss before you leave.”
“I’ll dee-cide who I French kiss and who I don't French kiss.”
George sang "Rule Britannia", as I walked across the yard on a handshake marathon.
“The bloody pond-skippers leavin’ us,” Slope said. “For a son of a Brit and a Limey youz one helluvanalright dude. Take care dawwgie. I think you’re gonna do well.”
“007’s finally leavin’ us!” BHF yelled.
“It’s alright,” Ogre said. “Hey England, I sent word to Yard 1 that you’re putting stories on the Internet about who’s doin’ drugs and you’re usin’ real names. They’re gonna beat your ass down as soon as you get there.”
“Nice try Ogre. Nobody believes rumours coming from you. Good luck to you,” I said and put my middle finger on display to him as soon as I stepped out of the gate.
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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Mail sent to Jon's previous address will get forwarded to him. He is still in Santa Rita, it is the Yard and the cell that have changed, see below:
Santa Rita Unit
Shaun Attwood ADC#187160, 1-B-10
PO BOX 24406