In this prison, they made you eat a really awful combination made of shredded regrown eyeball cells from some off-world creature that of itself was too terrible to look at lest you go made from the inability to ever sleep soundly again. Laying back in my bunk I could recall a time far past when some Hippies arrived at the North Avenue warehouse that a bunch of us had lived in as a loft. Some hippies had a arrived with a flatbed the center of which was neatly battened down with an eclectic combination of all their worldly goods. My neighbor of longstanding had been good friends even further back with the young silky blonde haired waif gone well into her forties. She spun a slow rambling tale the conclusion of which resulted in a hint that held an empty hand holding the proverbial pan out. I did not respond. But my father still alive at that time had dug deep in his own pocket unnecessarily. At least in my opinion. But that was his way after a long hard life as a child of the back alleys of the Depression. They could market their wares I thought. As I have down so many times before. And as I would find myself doing yet again several more times before fate had found me sequestered here.
I was teaching in a school for youngsters of 10 to 12 years in age myself decades past my associates. One young woman in her late twenties caught my interest of all the others. While prim and proper as one was likely to expect in such circumstances. Though it didn’t stop me from one day pulling her close upon my lap and encircling my arms about her. So swift was my play that she fell willingly into my embrace as if to catch herself from a fall. My lips the landing pad as I had intended and with no hesitation the two of us freely sloshing tongue and teeth. The propriety of the situation coming later of course for though there were no stunts in view the cameras scattered at brief intervals catching our hi-jinks. The conclusion of our encounter leaving her a bit flushed in the face. I had heard about those kinds of women whose bodies became fully flushed in passion. And it was to my loss that I did not have the opportunity to sometime shortly later discover more? It was more in line with my own fate that I would become waylaid by a young associate and his wife who generally running across each other’s paths on a fairly frequent daily early morning schedule. He invited me to his home just over on the next block and feeling caught by the duties accompanying good behavior graciously accepted. To my chagrin his wife had not quite risen for the day and I felt my presence was an unwarranted imposition. Young men being somewhat indifferent to the decor of such situations I found the most neutral part of the house to await her changing out of her flimsy nightgown into something less eye-catchingly flimsy.
The odd thing was that their hospitality was extended to include a rather informal display of local marksmanship with shotguns. I myself proposed with an example of same expressly for bird hunting of the 12 gauge variety. I began the feel a bit off kilter when I realized that though the artifact had been transported in two separate pieces, the shells that accompanied it were not for skeet but for more robust two-legged targets. The fact that they were shooting across the street towards another warehouse as opposed to a fully reinforced backstop made me uneasy. Worse yet was ahead when an overhead door was raised and the contestants were invited to shoot into a room stacked with liquor bottles. The idea being to hit the empties stacked in the midst of other rows or new merchandise. It was all the mischief of some foolhardy mind. But then another worry struck me as I had somehow overlooked the 9MM automatic that I was carrying about outside my home without a license. Somehow I knew I was tempting fate? The afternoon concluded with me upon a massive sand pile within a large half-barrel shaped containment structure crawling on my belly to catch site of something far at the back end of same. The day had descended into endless dares and other forms of spontaneous foolishness. Funny how when you have so much time on your hands and you are perpetually confined to a six by none universe what odd recollections arrive as if from nowhere to occupy your thoughts? Tale after tale of nonsensical anecdotes precluding you from obsessing for the hundred-millionth time on that other all too familiar tale that you tried every waking moment of existence to avoid reliving. The story of how you found yourself here to begin with. A tale that I an loath to recall and will not bother to tell if I can help it!