Olympus Has Fallen, or the Presidential version of Home Alone!

In the midst of the Coronapocalypse Netflix has yet again dropped another gem to help us get through social distancing. Angel Has Fallen staring Gerard Butler and Morgan Freeman is the third installation in the Fallen series which started with Olympus Has Fallen in 2013. The series is based around the continued story line that the president of the United States repeatedly comes under attack by varying global threats. Each time around it comes down to Butlers character Mike Banning to save the day and keep the president safe. Simple on top but the series brings more to the table than just repetitive action scenes and one liners.  

In Olympus Has Fallen, Mike Banning was a former Secret Service agent who happens to be in the right place at the right time to save the President resulting in him being reinstated so he could save the President again in the second film London Has Fallen. This time around he is next in line to be the Director of the Secret Service and Morgan Freeman is no longer the Speaker of the House but now the President who will be in peril for most of the film. 

   

Banning is feeling the strain that defeating modern global threats has on his body. He’s suffered multiple concussions and suffers from crippling migraines causing him to become dependent on pain killers. However, the opening action sequence shows that none of that is slowing him down. In fact, his biggest problem is that he is reluctant to take the Director job due to his thirst to stay in the fight. However, he has a young daughter at home to think about so he’s leaning towards the desk job. Then, when the President is out fishing, he is attacked by drones and the only survivors are Banning and the President, Banning is framed for the attack. This leads to Banning having to go on the run to clear his name and keep the President safe.

The movie is fast paced and over the top at times but keeps the watcher engaged. Helping to do this is an excellent line up of actors including Danny Huston, Piper Perabo, and Nick Nolte. All of which help to keep the movie grounded in story between the blockbuster action scenes that push reality and drive the film.

It’s no wonder that during these trying times this movie has found a spot among the top ten movies or series on Netflix this week. It’s not just because it’s new and shiny compared to the rest of Netflix’s catalog, it’s also because it’s just good old fashion action fun. You get the action, you get a decent story, and you get a bit of comedy on top (even though some of the action is funny on its own!). And with a solid cast and decent story writing you can’t go wrong with giving this movie a shot.

Is The Flash still worth watching?

So the midseason break is ending and our favorite shows are getting started up again so I figured I would try to put up a few summary blogs to help those that have been on the fence about certain shows.  First up is the CW’s Arrowverse’s The Flash. The Flash had a pretty weak but light hearted beginning four years ago and has been criticized in its second and third season for having an all-around overly dramatic theme.  The show is targeted at a younger audience so that makes sense but it really hit fans of the comics harder than the show runners anticipated and it looks so far like they are trying to fix that.

The Flash, or Barry Allen, has been a long time staple of humor and levity in the DC comics playing the polar opposite to the Batman in the Justice League. However even though Grant Gustin, the actor in the title role, has displayed a natural sense of comedic timing they seem to have been ok with the shows tendency to stick to more dramatic plot lines. This isn’t any form of comic blasphemy though since Barry’s storylines, while very funny, do tend to come from dark places. His mother was killed at a young age and his father was blamed for the murder. He grew up an orphan and because he is so plucky in nature he is a character whose value as a sacrifice is much higher than other characters leading him and others who have held up The Flash mantle to have been regularly sacrificed in the comics.

The first few seasons really did a good job developing the rest of the characters though. The supporting characters get plenty of story lines and most of the time they are pretty engaging.  The Villains have also had major chances to really flush them out and making it more enjoyable when they drop in randomly like in the comics. Some have even done so well that they became fan favorites and crossed over to the good side like Captain Cold, Heat wave, and Killer Frost. One actor, Tom Cavanagh did such a good job playing Harrison Wells that they have brought him back over and over as different versions of the character from different dimensions, getting better every time.

However, the problem of the Broody Flash still remained. But the finally of season 3 had Barry being punished by the Speed Force, the source of Barry’s power, in order to balance it before it could destroy the world. The Speed Force held him captive until he returned in the Season four premier. I know it’s not that big of a deal but they added a catch where time was different in the Speed Force causing a change in Barry’s behavior upon his return. Basically they treated it like a character reset, he has a new found appreciation for life and has been slowly adding more humor and levity to the series.  The Big Bad is also unique this season.  The Thinker is a being with unimaginable intelligence and he is constantly one step ahead of the hero’s. Also his motives are not well known, but he has had enough screen time to be somewhat relatable leaving a lot of fans questioning if he even is a bad guy even though he has so far completely destroyed Barry’s life.

The cherry on top for the series though is that it is in the Arrowverse. Now, I’m not that big of an Arrow fan, I keep meaning to catch up on it but it never feels like I have the time. The same goes for Supergirl. But with the Legends of Tomorrow and The Flash doing so well they have been able to do a couple of four episode crossovers that bring the full casts of all four shows together to pull off a huge story line in one week.  The action levels in these episodes are off the charts, rivaling the action seen in the marvel movies and really matching the pace of comics. So if you have been interested in The Flash or any of the other series in the Arrowverse, I would strongly recommend getting into them but especially the Flash!  You well be able to find something for everyone with its wide variety of ever growing characters and story lines that will keep you wanting more every week.

The Rise of Wonder Woman

This summer was a series of major hit and misses at the box office. Huge productions that had big hype and great marketing fell flat and movies with massively talented casts like Mother floundered opening weekend. The Dark Tower and IT were two of Stephen King’s greatest works, both of which were long considered to not be viably able to transfer from book to screen. Both movies were well cast and shot, had excellent marketing, and looked amazing in trailers, but IT broke box office records and the Dark Tower never seemed to get out of the gate.

Movie goers appeared to be using the power of their wallet to make sure movie makers knew that their budgets were limited and fans were only going to pay to see movies that promised more of what viewers wanted to see.  Dark Tower’s story is amazing but not widely known whereas IT already had a made for TV movie. So viewers went to see IT because they knew what it was about. Meanwhile, movies like Mother and Dark Tower looked great, but we never got a feeling for what the movie was actually about. With so many flops movie goers were only coming out to see something they already wanted to see.

Amid this minefield, one unlikely film rose up and not only claimed the top spot, but also made film history while changing the current landscape of cinema.  On paper, Wonder Woman should have never succeeded. A comic book heroine with no major fan base taking place in the failing DCU and directed by a woman with no prior experience directing action movies. Several times in the past Wonder Woman failed to even get greenlit so for it to dominate a Summer blockbuster season was a complete surprise. So what about Wonder woman made it stand out so much?

              Well, for starters it was extremely well written. The story spends just enough time on origin backstory to fill in viewers before moving on to its epic action scenes. This helps keep the viewers interested from the start. It spends small periods developing the side characters in between series of eye popping visuals. The only fault in the story is the incredibly small amount of effort taken to flush out any of the antagonists. Most of the action centers around Wonder Woman fighting the Germans soldiers (this was WWI so no, not the Nazis!) so the story did not need it as “War” was the antagonist at its core though.  However, it would have added a whole different level of interest in the story had we had more time to really have a tangible bad guy. There are the German officer, a scientist, and Aries.  The Germans had no depth and are completely forgettable. Aries isn’t revealed until the climax and it’s not even shocking, more so rather a letdown since the character quickly dissolved to just a flashy CGI effect.  In the end you don’t get the feeling that there ever really was a boss battle but rather than a series of events that led to the conclusion.

The acting is not amazing. That being said, it doesn’t need to be. The characters are all played very well and this is a comic book movie, not Shakespeare, and that’s a good thing. The characters and acting are great filler in between the real star, the action.  The cinematography and score were designed for high paced, visually amazing action scenes and it shows. The action moves just fast enough to keep you on the edge of your seat but not so fast that like Transformers you end up missing small bits and getting an overall unmemorable feel to it.

But what made this movie stand out apart from all of the others?  We had been promised a remarkable season of high octane movies and with a few exceptions we were left wanting. This movie not only met those expectations but set a new standard as well. Prior to its release viewer weren’t really open to the idea of a lead actress in a major action or superhero role.  Women have dominated the lead roles of horror movies and have started to own almost half the lead roles in comedies as of late showing that viewers already wanted to see women in what used to be male dominated roles. In fact, several action movies in the last couple of years tried to be the first big hit with a female lead with varying levels of success but Wonder Woman not only succeeded but broke the record for highest grossing super hero origin film beating out the likes of Ironman, Spiderman, and Batman Begins.

Audiences embraced the change with open arms.  On playgrounds across the country young girls and boys alike are choosing her character to play superheroes. Grown men are wearing her image on shirts, no longer bothered by the stigma of liking female characters being associated with lower masculinity. This opens the doors for so many great stories featuring strong female leads to be given a legitimate chance at being greenlit effectively changing the way make movies.

War on Everyone!!

Written and Directed by John Michael McDonagh, this little gem starring Michael Pena and Alexander Skarsgard was released in theatres in February of 2017 to mixed reviews and a lack luster Box Office. All I knew going into watching this movie was that it was a bad cops as good guys themed comedy, I had no idea I was in for one of the freshest and most quotable movies I had seen in a long while.

This movie stands out in so many positive ways. From the gritty cinematography to the poignant soundtrack and wrapped up with the chemistry between these almost unbelievable characters that as a viewer you bond with almost immediately and root for the entire film.

The story is pretty simple. Pena and Skarsgard play Bob and Terry, New Mexico’s dirtiest cops. Best friends and partners, these two take what they want from the degenerates they incarcerate, proving that they are far more dangerous than the criminals they are pursuing. When a robbery leaves a million dollars up for grabs, Bob and Terry are quick on its trail but when the thieves push back it quickly becomes personal.

Far and away the best part of the film is Pena and Skarsgard. Their chemistry is just amazing as can be clearly seen from their on screen timing and delivery. On the surface they have an almost effortless friends for life relationship but throughout the film you see it goes much deeper. They serve as opposing sides of a Yin Yang. Bob is the family guy with a perfect wife and funny kids. Terry is the one with the dark past and no one else in his life but his partner. Instead of using this to contrast the two characters as per Hollywood usual, it’s pushed aside in favor of having the two be completely on the same page at every turn in the story.  They are the ultimate “Ride or Die” for each other friends and with the other characters close to them so seemingly ok with how seriously they haven’t taken their oaths as officers (with the exception of their Captain) it plays as the centerpiece for the entire movie.

The opening shot has them chasing down a mime who is on foot while they are driving. Bob says one simple line. “I’ve always wondered, if you hit a mime, does he make a sound.”  And with that they run over the mime and then proceed to seem to rob him.  That’s one minute into the movie and it doesn’t stop there. The pace of the movie keeps the tempo high. Occasionally they even show scenes that stop the story and focus on Terry’s dark side but even those don’t stop the tempo of the entire film. 

The attitude they bring to the screen is akin to Jim Carrey’s alternate ego from Me Myself and Irene only in a completely positive light. If a suspect gives them attitude they kick him in the nuts and then 15 seconds later they are doing drugs together.

And it doesn’t stop with them.  Their snitches, Bob’s wife and Terry’s girlfriend, the bad guy, the lackeys, hell, even Bob’s kids all share this same Zero Fucks given attitude. This lets the character’s actions go far beyond what we would normally consider rational in a movie and the audience comes along completely making it a true escape from reality. Without giving away the ending, the film still manages to pull together a decently dramatic finale that gives some of what you would traditionally expect from a movie like this but still keeping its unique style.

Best for last is the dialogue. It is fast and off the wall. As if most of the character’s lack filters and say the most messed up things without thinking or feeling any shame. Completely unforgiving and not politically correct at all, it will have you quoting lines like “I hate murder, I hate it!” and “You want to adopt a homless kid”. (and no, I did not misspell homeless) I cannot recommend this movie enough and expect it to reach a cult status. Give it a try, you won’t be sorry.

Thirty Days in the Desert chapters 1 through 8

Thirty Days in The Desert

by

Eric Goldwine

Eric Goldwine

Ericgoldwine@yahoo.com

602-434-7742

Chapter 1

My eyes are awake before they ever open. First thing I notice is that I am lying in a soft bed. I haven't slept in a bed in weeks, and knowing that I am in one now makes my stomach drop. My eyes open and search for the clock in the dark, hoping to see midnight or one AM. Hell, even five AM, at least that would give me one more precious hour with my family. Finally coming into focus, I can clearly make out the red lights telling me the alarm will go off in two minutes. The breath leaves my lungs and I can barely find he strength to refill them.

Curled up next to me like a mini-heater is my four-year-old son. My pregnant wife is sleeping on a small pad on the floor. The pad had been my place for the last few weeks, ever since we moved in with her parents. They have a guest room for us but the bed in it can barely fit an adult and a child, so I had been choosing the floor to save my wife's back the pain. However, knowing that this would be my last night to spend with my son as well as my last chance to sleep in a bed for the next month, my wife wanted me to sleep in the bed.

As I reach over to turn off the alarm before it has a chance to go off, I look down and see Amy looking up at me. Neither of us at this point can even manage a smile, we just stare for a moment. Both of us trying to read the others face for any sign of lost resolve. She, worried for my safety, me, hoping she has the strength in her to go through the next 30 days alone. Finally, she smiles and I am strong again, reminded of all of things she has forgiven me for and with that I am finally able to roll out of bed.

The two of us work together in silence to get dressed and ready for the day. Eventually I get Tyler up and dress him. He is too sleepy to talk and can barely sit up as I slide a long sleeve shirt over his head. Once he is fully dressed I give his hair a tussle. "What do you want to eat buddy?" I ask. "PBJ," he manages to mumble as he slides off the bed and heads out to join his mother in the kitchen, already making their lunch for the day. None for me though, I honestly have no idea when my next meal will even be.

I decide to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for myself as well and take the first bite without thinking. As soon as the taste hits my tongue, I'm hit with an immediate sense of regret. I look at Amy and she can barely keep from laughing. Sheriff Joe Arpio is notorious for serving his inmates peanut butter sandwiches and hours before his deputies take me into custody at court to serve a thirty-day sentence in the notorious Tent City Jail, I made the decision to have my last meal as a free man be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I finally break down and start laughing causing Amy to do the same. Soon Tyler is laughing along with us pretending he gets the joke and for a single moment everything feels normal.

"At least I'll get work furlough in a couple days and I'll be able to get something real to eat," I say as I lean in to kiss Amy on her cheek. She kisses me back. "Just be careful and make it back out to me," she responds as we linger in each other’s arms for a moment. Then suddenly we are out of time and wrangling Tyler out the door to the car.

The car is an old blue station wagon that had been beaten to hell long before we got our hands on it. Not that long ago I drove a 2008 Mitsubishi Lancer GTS, my baby. The only car I ever loved. Amy had the soccer mom crossover SUV, a birthday present a couple of years earlier, and she couldn't have been happier. After I got laid off however we started to fall behind. At the same time Amy hurt her back and had to take leave from her job. The only money we had coming in was the two hundred and fourteen dollars a week from unemployment which wasn't even enough to pay rent. Then I got the first DUI.

I wish I could give you details about it but I was black out drunk. Luckily nobody else was in the car with me. Also lucky that the three passengers in the van that I hit got away without a scratch, at least that's what I was told. I never met them face to face but my public defender said they were fine. He also said he could get me off with just six days in jail, and he meant it too.

With a DUI and a hit and run on my record, the only job I could talk my way into was seasonally selling sausage at the mall. Let's just say it didn't pay too much but it was something. It wasn't enough though. Soon everything we owned of value was sold or pawned, including our wedding rings. We spent our nights with the lights off while repo men knocked on our doors looking for the cars we were hiding in the garage. Eventually they were able to get the soccer mom SUV and I all but hand delivered my baby's keys when I got my second DUI. Suddenly my public defender wasn't so sure he could get me the six days.

The lucky timing of my paycheck along with Amy's first check after getting back to work got us a six hundred dollar oxidized blue station wagon with detached headlights, leaking oil, a dying transmission, and a random overheating problem. The kids thought it was cool though. My step daughter, Jessica, loved the backwards facing rear seat, and both kids loved how we let them pick out some Christmas decals from the dollar store and go crazy decorating the car.

At the beginning of 2013 my mall job ended. Eventually we had to abandon our house, find homes for our dogs, and take the few things we had left and move in with the only family that would have us. Amy's parents were great and I was glad she would be somewhere safe while I wasn't with her. She was also able to find a second job being a nanny during the week and I was able to get a job slinging breakfast for barely above minimum wage. Hopefully we would be able to get an apartment soon after I got out so we wouldn't be in their way for long.

Her parents' house was in Maricopa City, which is roughly forty miles outside of Phoenix. A real pleasant drive, unless you are constantly checking the temperature gauge of your junker car for it to spike. We travel in silence broken intermittently by Amy asking me if I forgot something. “Did you remember the quarters?” I show her the ten-dollar roll. “Yup”. “How about your bus pass?” I nod my head as I take out my wallet to double check. The single day bus pass is not hard to find in my wallet; there is only three things in it in total. The bus pass, my state ID card, and a bank card for an account with no money in it. I hadn't really looked at my wallet since I had cleaned it out and it strikes me how pathetic it looks. It used to be packed with credit cards, store discount cards, business cards, random receipts, pictures, and of course, cash. Now it looks deflated and sad. There are only three cards and they can all fit into one of the several pockets that had been previously stretched out. I will have to be searched when I am taken into custody and then every time I reenter tent city after my furlough leaves, so I wanted to clear everything out to make it simple. Plus, all of the credit cards, cash, and business cards were completely useless or nonexistent now.

Half way through our trip, we get off the isolated highway that leads to Maricopa City and merge onto the I-10 freeway that will take us into the heart of Phoenix. As we start to pass a wide array of businesses I start to subconsciously make a list of new places to apply at. I have spent the last 3 weeks of my unemployment doing little other than riding the bus in circles and applying at any place that I could think of. The only bite I had gotten was from a breakfast and lunch diner as a short order cook making only a dollar over minimum wage. I used to run multiple restaurants just like it, making three times that amount. Before my DUI's I had interviewed for several similar or even better positions and on two occasions actually received fantastic offers, both of which evaporated once they knew I would be going away to serve an, at that point, undetermined amount of time in jail only to get out with no valid driver’s license and the hassle of probation. I was happy to be currently employed but I needed to keep my eye out for something better. The baby will be here in five months and I can't even currently support the mouths I have now.

The entire trip seems to pass in a blink while I am drifting off thinking about my current job status, and I soon find that we are exiting the freeway two blocks away from the Maricopa County superior court house. For the first time I can feel my heart rate rise noticeably and my anxiety kicks in. That sudden feeling when you find yourself next in line to get on a ride at the carnival. Now, more than ever, I want to do anything I can to avoid having to go through this, but I cannot waiver. Amy must sense my fear, or maybe it is her own, because her hand finds mine as it rests on my knee.

She navigates through the one way streets to the courthouse and I realize that she is not going near any of the parking lots. I quickly pull out my phone and check the time. The traffic must have been worse than usual because it is close to eight and she only has a few minutes to get to her nannying job. She plans to drop me off in front of the courthouse. There are no real parking spots there, so I am going to have to jump out quickly before the early morning downtown traffic backs up behind her. I had gone over the entire list of problems I might run into this morning and did everything I could to minimize or avoid all of them, but it somehow never occurred to me that I might not have a chance to say a real goodbye to Amy and Tyler.

No time to panic, however, as Amy pulls up to the courthouse curb. Frantically, we stare at each other for a moment before I reach out and put my hand on her stomach, feeling the outline of the baby. My other hand quickly goes behind her neck as I pull her in for one last kiss. As I pull back I can feel her grip on my shirt refusing to let go. I give her my best confident smile. “Two days,” I say.

“I love you,” she replies. “I love you too babe,” is the only thing I have time to say before I can hear the first angry horn coming from behind us. I toss my phone into my day bag that has everything I will need when I get out on leave, and I jump out of the car, shutting the door behind me while opening the back door. I give Tyler a firm hug and tell him that I love him. He smiles and says “Have fun camping dad!” I have enough time to lean out and shut the door before the car behind us lays heavy on the horn again. Weakly I wave goodbye to Amy and as I see her pull away, I get a glimpse of her wiping away her tears.

The car that was behind us, with the very functional horn, pulls up slowly as the very large, mean looking driver yells some sort of curse at me. I smile at him and flip him off. I am unfairly angry at him for cutting my goodbye so short and a smile and the bird are something that I feel will sufficiently drive him up the wall. Normally I wouldn't want to antagonize someone but what the hell. I mean what is he going to do, get out and pound the crap out of me in front of Joe Arpio's office? Of course he drives off, although infinitely more infuriated at this point, and I turn to find myself at the bottom of the steps leading up to the courthouse.

Chapter Two

I need to take a deep breath and hold it for a moment to calm my nerves before I ascend the steps to the courthouse and make my way through the front door. Being the beginning of the day, the front lobby is packed. In the Superior Court everyone is expected to show up by 9 am and cases are seen whenever your lawyer and the court are ready.

Immediately inside the front door is the security checkpoint; plenty of armed court officers herding everyone through metal detectors and x-ray machines. I've been going to court almost every week for 3 months and have gotten them down to a science, but I still get oddly nervous when I go through, like I'm afraid I forgot to leave my rocket launcher at home and I'm going to cause a scene. When I get to the front of the line, I pull off my belt and watch, the only metal items I am wearing, and put them in a dish with my wallet, roll of quarters, and my copy of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, then place the dish on the conveyor belt of the x-ray machine. I am through the metal detector and gathering my things while everyone else seems baffled that their keys are setting off the alarms.

After clearing security, I head to the left for a quick look at the large scrolling monitors which display lists of everyone expected at court today and at which floor/courtroom they are supposed to appear. It takes just a few moments to spot my name and then I am off to the escalators to head to the third floor.

The third floor is less crowded for now but will fill up fast once everyone else catches up. I quickly head to the clerk's desk to check in before there is a line and then take a seat in front of courtroom D. It's my third visit to this courtroom but oddly enough I have never made it inside. Every time my public defender, this one being different from the public defender that is handling my first DUI charge, rushes me off to a conference room to discuss the status of the case. He is incredibly over worked and usually quite late and has not once remembered my case without me reminding him of the details, but I can't complain because I ended up with a great plea deal.

Because the court trying my first case was dragging it out a bit, my lawyer on this case was able to get it wrapped up more quickly. Which was just as important as it was lucky because the second charge was a felony, and since we were able to get the plea in before the first charge was tried, we were able to treat it as my first offense rather than my second. It made my first case shoot from 6 days in jail to an automatic 30 now because it would be considered my second offense, but that was irrelevant. If the felony was charged as my second offense, I would have been lucky to get away with 180 days, but as my first offense the DA was willing to give me the minimum sentence of 30 days. My lawyer for the first case was able to pull off getting the judge to add that I could serve that sentence concurrently with any other offense so I would get away with doing 30 days total for both charges. All of this was figured out at the very last minute, happening so fast my head was spinning. All that I cared about was that I would not only be out before the baby was due, but also with enough time to get us settled and take care of Amy for the last few months of the pregnancy.

The one hitch was that when we tried to submit the plea deal for the felony charge, the judge noticed a clause that was incorrect. Basically they had copy and pasted the plea together from another case to save time and left in a section that said I would get my license back immediately after my release. The MVD has me on file as suspended for the next year, and both lawyers agreed that it was a mistake, but since it was the DA's assistant presenting the plea and not the actual DA, the judge thought it would be best to delay a week for verification. She rescheduled for today and added that I would be taken directly into custody at the time of my plea.

The day after all of this had happened, I went to court for what had been my first DUI charge, plead guilty and agreed to self-surrender on the same date as my other plea to line up the charges. The trick is, if the DA forgot to fix the paperwork, then the judge could push back another week. I would still have to surrender for the other charge though, meaning I would have to serve 37 days instead of 30. It was the last wild card in the deck and I was hoping not to draw it.

As I sat and waited, I couldn't get myself to relax at all. I was too preoccupied with waiting for my lawyer and anticipating when the courtroom would open to focus enough to even crack my book. Also, for the first time since I could remember, I was without my phone. It was my lifeline to everything and knowing it was out of my reach until I got out in two days made me feel somehow incomplete.

Luckily it's not too long until the outer doors to the courtrooms are opened and I get to make my way inside. As I find a seat, I begin to wiggle out of my pull over hoodie. Beneath that I have a decent looking long sleeved shirt which I thought would appear nicer in front of the judge. Under the long sleeve I had another thick shirt. I had read up that processing into Tents could take up to a full 24 hours, and it was important to dress in layers and bring a watch and a long book.

Having spent two separate nights in Fourth Avenue jail for each of my arrests, I knew all too well how important these things were in lockup. These were two of the longest, most miserable nights of my life and I was thankful they were behind me. Today, if all goes as planned, I will be taken into custody inside the courtroom. From there I should be taken to the holding cells behind the courtroom until eventually being transferred to tent city for processing and incarceration. Not the most fun day plan, but it didn't seem that bad compared to Fourth Ave. Other than that, I have no real clue what any of it will be like, except that I will be kept in holding cells until I reach the furlough yard and then I should be let out on my own.

Besides myself, there is only the court clerk in the room setting up, so I take a seat on one of the benches and crack open my book. I get precisely three paragraphs in when the doors behind me open and I hear my name called. I turn to find a woman I've never seen before. Petite, Asian-American and, by the looks of it extremely exhausted.

"Yes," I respond as I rise to meet her.

"Follow me please," she says as she turns and heads back out the doors and towards one of the side offices. I gather my belongings and head in behind her. By the time I get into the office she already has folders out of her briefcase and spread on the desk while she is busy rummaging through her purse. "Stupid allergies," she mutters as she sniffles. Finally finding a tissue, she quickly blows her nose then quickly turns to me.

"I'm Mindy, I'm your public defender's assistant. He has a busy schedule today so he sent me to handle your plea." She motions for me to sit across from her as she picks up one of the files on the table with her other hand. "Let's see, you're pleading guilty today for a domestic violence charge, correct?"

Oh crap. "No," I quickly correct her. "I'm pleading to the DUI, class six felony... undesignated."

"Oh," she says as she drops the file in her hand and picks up another. She opens it, looks quickly at the first few pages then dropped it as well and grabs a third. "Ah, here we go. Class six felony...plea for 30 days."

"That's me," I respond with a half-smile.

"Thirty days for a felony, how did you pull that off?" she asks as she double checks the file.

"Just lucky I guess." I reply dryly. I've gotten this question a few times and it always makes me feel uncomfortable. It's like someone is staring you in the face and screaming "YOU SHOULD BE PUNISHED WORSE THAN THIS, YOU MONSTER!" My attempt at a joke is apparently lost on her because her only response is to raise one eyebrow and sniffle, so I switch gears. "The original plea was for ninety days but for some reason the DA came back with thirty days the next week, we never had a clue as to why."

Not exactly the truth, but there was no way I was going to voice my suspicion as to why the plea was really changed while I was still in the courthouse and unconvicted, Mindy seems to like my second response better because her attention is back to my file.

"Looks simple. Go ahead and go take a seat back in the courtroom and I will let the clerk know that we are ready to go before the judge. I saw the DA's assistant out front, so we should be able to get started as soon as the judge is ready."

I say thanks and head back to my seat in the courtroom. I'm no longer alone in there as I can see one of the clerks has made her way next to the judge’s desk and a lawyer has taken a seat at the prosecutor's table. I assume that she is the assistant for the DA today and I quickly take note that she is focused and stern even though she seems too young to have gotten that look through time on the job. I'm glad my plea is worked out already because I can't imagine a world in which my public attorney would stand a chance against her.

I settle myself back into my seat, opening my book to try to relax. I don't even get through the explanation of Bilbo's birthday when suddenly the clerk is calling for all to rise. In the movies, the criminal always remembers the name of the judge that put them away, but I don't even catch this judge's name as she makes her entrance. I've seen six judges so far and I realize I don't remember a single one of their names.

In any case, the judge tells us we can take a seat as she settles down and takes the first stack of papers from her clerk. She doesn't even look up from the file as she calls my name and asks me to step forward. As if on cue Mindy suddenly returns to the courtroom and meets me at the defense's desk.

Mechanically, the judge asks me if I saw the presentation in courtroom A prior to today's hearing. I lie and say yes. I've seen the presentation twice before and seen the video equivalent about a hundred times at the other courthouse as it plays there on a loop prior to court proceedings, so I didn't feel the need to do it again. It is pointless either way because the only thing of importance in the presentation is what rights you might be waiving by accepting a plea agreement and how that might affect your status as a citizen if you are not already a full citizen; all of this will be repeated by the judge prior to her accepting my plea anyway.

Judge what's-her-name starts listing off the details of the charges and goes through the presenting of the plea. I'm already starting to feel the tension building in the center of my chest and running through to my spine. Soon I will be surrendering my freedom. I had been able to deal with that thought by just pushing it back like it was a shot you had to get at the doctor, basically treating it like something that will suck but will suck worse if you think about it. But now it's right in front of me and more real than ever and I'm finding it suddenly hard to maintain my calm. I haven't had a drink in two months, I haven't even craved one either, but now I'm wondering how long it will be until that changes.

Even through my worries, I can spot when the judges brow bunches together while she is reading through my plea from a mile away. My gut drops, they didn't fix the error. I watch helplessly as the judge addresses the prosecutor. "The notes say that there was a problem with the wording in the plea, has that been resolved yet?"

Obviously caught off guard, the prosecutor starts flipping through her file. "I wasn't aware of any discrepancies."

Now visibly annoyed, the judge says, "Right in the terms, there is a section allowing the defendant to regain driving privileges upon his release. The notes say the DA was to review the terms and if inaccurate, amend that section. Are you aware if the DA was able to review the plea?"

"I'm not seeing any notes that would suggest that he had your honor."

The judge snaps the file closed. "Well I don't know if we can continue with the plea unless we can get clarification. Do you know if he is in the courthouse yet?"

The prosecutor is shrugging her shoulders and Mindy is wiping her nose. Time for a hail Mary. I raise my hand.

"Excuse me your honor." The fact that both of her eyebrows skyrocketed tells me that that was the last thing she expected, but I continue anyway, I have nothing to lose at this point. "The part of the plea in question would definitely benefit me, but I have no problem agreeing that it should be removed. The MVD clearly stated to me that my license was revoked and I won't be eligible for reinstatement for a year."

The last words seem to linger in the air for an eternity, until the judge finally pulls her gaze away from me and slowly reopens my file. "Well, since the defense has no objection to amending the plea, does the prosecution have any objections?" The prosecutor kind of shrugs, content to move forward and the judge keeps on rolling.

The judge then asks me a series of questions meant to make sure the plea is air tight. Were you promised anything that was not in writing? Are you aware of all of the rights you are giving up by taking this plea? At any time did any officer of the court put your nuts in a vice to get you to sign the plea? General stuff like that to make sure you cannot come back later and call shenanigans. I answer with several "yes ma'am, no ma'am's" and, in no time at all, the judge is announcing my guilt and asking for the bailiff to take me into custody. For some reason I feel oddly disappointed that the judge never banged the gavel.

I look to my right to find that Mindy has disappeared into thin air and ahead of me a Sheriff's officer is approaching while pulling a set of handcuffs from her belt. She asks me to put my hands out in front of me and I comply while she secures the cuffs to my wrists. I can't help but laugh to myself; the handcuffs are pink.

Chapter 3

In the 1990's Sheriff Joe, under the guise that inmates were stealing underwear, mandated that all of the inmates must wear pink underwear. Openly this was supposed to stop the inmates from stealing them but the public all believed, and supported, that it was a way to demoralize the inmates by removing their masculinity. Some people also believed it was because Sheriff Joe hated the way that inmates would wear their pants sagging down to expose their underwear and that making them pink would make the inmates stop. Of course this didn't work because nobody feels bad about other people knowing that you are wearing pink underwear if they are also wearing them as well. The funny thing that newscasters intentionally leave out whenever they are covering the story, which is often, is that sagging pants originally started in the prison system as a way to advertise to other inmates that you were available.... sexually. Kids who saw inmates doing it but not knowing why thought it was something only bad ass prisoners did and wanted to emulate them. Before long teens were trying to look hard by sagging their jeans from coast to coast unaware of what it meant. Today in Arizona you will find most of the inmates sagging and exposing their absolutely fabulous pink underwear.

Like I said, the media and public ate up the entire stunt. It wasn't long before Sheriff Joe was signing pairs of pink underwear at events and fundraisers. He soon decided to extend the program to include pink socks, thermals during the winter, and of course, handcuffs. During my first stay in Fourth Avenue Jail I had to be clothed in stripes but luckily not the underwear. In Tent City I will be in a yard where street clothes are permitted so it had never occurred to me that I might end up wearing pink so the handcuffs caught me off guard. The officer secures them loosely and then leads me to a door on the left side of the room. On either side of the door are large glass windows behind which I can see another officer waiting to open the door for us. I've seen this setup in other courtrooms and know that this room is where inmates that are locked up while awaiting trial will be waiting for their chance to go before a judge. As is the custom of every inmate in county jail that is not on furlough or processing, they will be dressed in black and white stripes with the pink socks and underwear and orange sandals whether they are already convicted or not.

Going through this door is the end of all that I know for sure about what will happen.

We get to the door and the other officer lets us through. We pass by him and head to the left to another set of doors. These lead to a holding area where the officer asks me to remove all of my personal belongings and place them in a bag. I remove my quarters and my wallet. She documents them then asks for my book and my watch.

“I'm sorry but my lawyer told me I would be able to bring these through processing.” I say this while handing them over without complaint so she knows I'm more asking if I will get them back rather than challenging her.

“That will be up to where you are headed.”

“Furlough yard at tents.” I say as if she cares.

She doesn't seem to not completely care because she actually responds. “If you're going to Furlough they should give you everything back when they process you in. I'm going to need your shoe laces and the string from your hood if it has one.”

Saddened by the loss of my watch and book I move on to the laces. I have to remove them because at some point in time a prisoner decided to hang himself or strangle another inmate with his laces and now they are all removed during intake. This is why we can't have nice things. Luckily she doesn't take my hoodie which is a comfort because I will need it to keep warm later as well as it doubling as a pillow as I will probably be in a holding cell for the rest of the day and they consist of a concrete floor and a concrete bench lined with metal bars placed about four feet apart making being comfortable next to impossible. After everything is accounted for and bagged up she does a pat down to make sure I am not hiding anything else then leads me to a holding cell nearby. She says nothing as she shuts the door behind me and I find myself completely alone. For some reason I never considered being alone as a possible outcome for the day and I find it oddly unsettling. Every other holding cell I have been in had been over packed with people, most either drunk, high, or completely insane. A frightening experience to say the least for someone who is not used to it but now I find myself alone and feeling like I miss the entertainment of loudmouth criminals bragging about what they got away with in the past and bitching about what they got brought in for this time.

This cell is similar to the ones I have been in before except that it is half the size and circular in shape rather than rectangle. I take a seat to the left of the door and try to relax but I can't. As of this morning I am sober for one month and twenty-one days. Not exactly enough time for one to gain control over the anxiety and depression that my drinking had been hiding for almost a decade. It is now that I realize that the loss of my watch and book are going to have a much higher effect on me than I first thought when I handed them over. I've lost the last of the things that gave me a sense of security and without them I can already feel the tremor in my hands begin to increase. My chest tightens as my breathing becomes erratic. Soon my jaw begins to hurt from me teeth being clenched and all of the weight on my back seems to be centered into one painful spot right behind my heart.

I have to fight to focus on something to distract me. I end up randomly picking Texas Hold'em hands then doing the math to figure out the probability of them hitting followed by the probability of them being vulnerable. It takes a while but I eventually get my breathing to regulate. Luckily my hands have even started to stop trembling when the door opens again and the same guard lets another inmate into the cell with me. He is a tall and well-built Mexican with a babies face. I'm guessing he's barely even over eighteen and probably more scared than I am.

He picks a seat opposite of me and we both sit in silence for a minute trying to act as if neither of us is actually bothered by our situations. Soon though the need to talk in order to keep the silence from driving us crazy wins us over.

“Hey,” I start off with. He says hey back and as he speaks I can hear how young and scared he really is. Feeling for the poor guy I try to get his story out of him. “They just take you into custody too?”

“Yeah,” he says as he starts examining the room.

“How long are you doing?”

“Sixty days,” he says coldly.

“Ouch,” I grimace. “Where do you have to do it?”

“Tents,” He leans back against the wall behind him as he says it and lets his shoulders drop.

“Not too bad though,” I try to keep his spirits up. “Are you getting work release or furlough?”

“No, what’s that?”

“It's where they let you out so you can go to work.”

“Oh, no I have to stay in the whole time.”

Up until now I had only heard of people in tents getting work release so I'm a little taken back. “There sending you to tents and you have to do sixty days straight without getting out? Do you mind if I ask what you did?”

A small smile breaks finally breaks through is morose demeanor. “I broke Shannon's Law.”

“Shannon's Law,” as soon as I say it out loud I remember. “You shot a gun in the air?

“Yup.” He seems to be almost ashamed to be in for a small crime but it is actually something that gets taken seriously in Arizona. Shannon's Law was written after a fourteen-year-old girl was struck and killed by a stray bullet that was fired into the air and then fell back to Earth. It was already illegal to fire a gun within city limits but this meant there would be actual time to serve rather than a fine or a commuted sentence.

“I was at a New Year’s party,” he continues, leaning forward and starting to open up a bit more. “Everything was going OK but at midnight one of my friends pulled out a gun and let out a couple of shots. We had all been drinking and at the time it didn't seem like too bad of an idea. There must have been a cop already in the neighborhood though because by the time it was my turn and to let off a round the cop came right around the corner with his gun drawn on me. Next thing I knew I was face first into the ground and handcuffed.”

“Wow, that's tough.” The kid can't even be twenty yet and he's going to have a gun charge following him for the rest of his life.

“What about you? What did they get you for?

“DUI,” I say almost too fast. I doubt he can tell by my tone but the shame of my crimes crush me on the inside as I say it. I can only hope that he doesn't ask for too many details. Up until now I haven't found myself in many situations where I have to describe what I've done but like now, when it happens I'm immediately overwhelmed with so many negative feelings all at the same time and I find it hard to compose myself. Plus, even though this is a random person that I'm meeting for the first time in jail, I for some reason still feel the need to have this guy have a positive image of me and I cannot imagine anyone having that if they knew that I got two DUI's within three months of each other and the last one was a felony because I was driving with my four-year-old child in the car.

“Yeah, I hear most people are in here for that. How long did you get?

“Thirty days,” I cringe even more inside. Not because I have a lower sentence than him but because thirty days is a long time for a first time DUI so anyone in here that knows a bit about it will pick up on the fact that I either have multiple DUI's or that I did something much worse. Luckily for me he doesn't seem to notice.

“That's not too bad I guess. Do you get any of that work release?”

“Yeah, I get the work furlough.”

“What's the difference?

“Furlough is stricter. With release they just let you out for twelve hours a day, five days a week no matter what your work schedule is. I will have to give them my work schedule and they will only let me out an hour before I start work and then I have to be back an hour after I'm scheduled off.”

“What happens if you don't make it back on time?”

“I have no clue.” In all honesty the thought had never occurred to me. I make a mental note to make sure I definitely know the consequences as soon as I can.

We make some more idle chit chat for a few more minutes and are eventually interrupted by the guard opening the door and telling us to both stand and walk out. As we exit the cell we see two more guards spread out on either side of the doorway.

“Walk in a line and stay directly behind me.” One of the guards says to us then starts to lead the way with the other two guards following close behind us. They take us to the end of the hall where we see two sets of elevator doors. It takes me a moment to notice that there are no buttons on the wall to activate them however. The guard in front of us grabs his mic mounted on his shoulder and says his name and that they were taking two down. Moments later one of the sets of doors open and we are led into the elevator. My eyes quickly dart to were there would be a panel of buttons to choose floors and see just a stainless steel panel. None the less as soon as everyone is inside the elevator the doors close and we start moving down. I keep looking around and soon spot a camera and it all clicks into place. To prevent a convict from trying to make a run for it all of the elevators are controlled from somewhere else.

After we get out of the elevators which have gone down a completely unknown amount of levels, we are led down a few more hallways before we stop in front of another holding cell.

“Against the wall,” the guard orders motioning to the wall on the opposite side of the door. We line up and wait for him to pull out his key chain and open the door. Once opened he motions for us to move inside then shuts and locks the door behind us. This cell has five or six other people already waiting in it but there is still plenty of room for us to go in and have a seat without being shoulder to shoulder. As soon as the guards shut the door behind us everyone turns to a well-dressed older Hispanic man.

“Fourteen years!” shouts one of the inmates.

“Yeah, fourteen years and I got lucky it was that low,” said the Hispanic man. “My last charge had just fallen off of my record so they had to charge me as a first time offender otherwise it would have been twenty-five or more.”

“Fucking hell, what did you do?”

The inmates seemed to be in the middle of the “what brings you to a jail like this” game when we came in and everyone was so shocked that this guy had such a long sentence that they almost didn't even know that we came into the room.

“Forgery,” he replied nonchalantly. “I found a guy who had stolen a check printer from a bank. He was printing out all of these fake cashier’s checks and using them to buy crap from people off of Craigslist. He gave me a few bucks to go and make the transactions for him. I guess he had done it way too many times before I had gotten into it because the second one I went to turned out to be a sting and since I wouldn't give up the guy who made the checks they charged me with the forgery.”

“Why the hell didn't you just give up the guy that made the fucking checks in the first place?” another inmate asked.

“Because he's the kind of guy that would kill you before you ever had a chance to testify, that's why,” he responded almost rhetorically. “That's not the worst part though. See when I was a young kid I used to run in a gang and I got popped a few times. All of my gang tat's were all documented when I was booked and that came up during my sentencing. Since I'm considered a known gang member I got to do all my time up in high security, secluded from everyone else.”

A silence fell on the whole room. It was such an odd feeling, being next to a man who knew that he was at the very beginning of a fourteen-year prison sentence that he knew he would be spending alone for the most part. I couldn't help but think back to how the maximum sentence that I could have been faced with was up in the five to seven-year range. How easily it could have been me that everyone was listening to on the edges of their seats in this cell.

I don't have too much time to dwell on it however because soon the door opens again and a guard starts calling out names and telling those that he called to exit the cell and line up against the wall outside. Only the long timer is left behind as everyone else from the cell is marched off.

No elevators this time, just what felt like miles of corridors winding around corner after corner in what seemed like a maze intentionally designed to confuse you so you couldn't find your own way out. At one point we even seemed to have been brought outside in what felt like an underground parking garage but then quickly we were rushed through another door and back inside.

We finally made our last turn and the air is knocked right out of me. My chest immediately tightens as the realization of where I am quickly sets in.

I'm back inside Fourth Ave jail.

Chapter 4

“It's just the processing area,” I tell myself, trying to relax. “This is probably just a quick stop on the way to Tent City.”

The processing area of Fourth Ave is basically a long hallway that starts with a nurse’s station to screen inmates and people who are being brought straight off the street by officers for any current injuries, illnesses that could be spread to other inmates, and to gauge the inmates current state of mind to see if they are depressed or suicidal. After that you head to a bench that runs most of the way down the hallway to start your intake paperwork. Here you will get your mugshot before confirming your identity then finish with a screening from ICE if applicable. Since Arizona runs along the Mexican border, the federal Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency uses this as point to screen out any illegal immigrants. Twice I have been through here and they have never taken notice to me. There is nothing Hispanic about my name so I guess they always look past me.

I get a nudge in my back from the inmate behind me and I regain my nerve and move towards the officer at the front of the line who is waiting there to take off my handcuffs. Once freed, I take a seat on the bench next to the inmate that was in front of me.

Apparently since we are all convicted we get to skip the nurses portion of the intake and move straight towards the mugshot portion. Soon my name is called and for the third time in my life I have to have my face documented for public record. I can't even look straight at the lens as the flash goes off. I know that anyone who Google's my name now will be able to see that picture and be able to see just how horrible I have become.

I make my way back to the bench and start scooting down the line with the rest of the inmates towards the end as we are checked in one at a time. Because the room is filled with just as many officers and guards as there are inmates we all seem to naturally stay quiet. There is no way to get away with any smart ass comments in here and we are all to aware of how much power the officers have over us. However, I can hear snickering and whispering start at the end of the bench none the less.

I lean forward to get a quick glance at what could be so important or funny that it can't be held back in front of the guards. At the end of the bench where the first in line from my group sits is the last inmate, or police intake, from the group before us and she is a female. Only criminals would see this as an opportune moment to hit on a girl.

She doesn't seem to mind; in fact, she seems to be enjoying the attention. But it isn't long before a police officer comes right over and forces the males talking to her to get up and move back to the end of the processing line. Shortly after the girl is taken off through the doors to the security checkpoint never to be seen again.

Everything goes back to being quiet and I keep moving down the line until I'm next to go off through security as well, when an ICE agent points over at me.

“You, what's your name?” he asks.

I tell him my name and he starts to look it up. I can tell by the look on his face he doesn't like what he sees.

“Approach the desk,” he says as he waves me over. I can feel his eyes studying me the entire walk over and before I get to him I know why he called me over. My dark skin doesn't match my white name. I remind myself before stepping in front of the agent that I need to watch what I say. Outside and before I had a record I could get away with throwing a little attitude to a cop who called me out for my skin color but not in here and certainly not to an immigration agent.

He starts asking me a list of questions including where and when I was born, what was my social security number, and my parents name. By the time I tell him where I was born I can tell that my lack of any accent has already convinced him that I am not an illegal but he pushes through with the questions regardless just to be sure.

When he is done with me he directs me back to the bench. Once back I pay attention to the next person who he asks noting that it wasn't one of the three white men in our group or the single black guy but rather one of the five Hispanic men. The agents tone with him gets darker as soon as he hears the thick accent the inmate has and even though he can answer all of the questions he asked me, the agent keeps pushing with more specific questions. I find myself wondering if the other Hispanic inmates will have noticed how easy it was for me to get through. Will they hold it against me?

A guard at the security checkpoint eventually calls me over. I go through the door at the end of the hall and he tells me to take off my hoodie and my shoes. I comply and he checks them both for anything hidden then directs me through a metal detector. Once through, the guard on the other side instructs me to face the wall and put my feet in the two circles on the ground and my hands in the circles in front of me on the wall. As soon as I do a third guard pats me down. This search is always a lot more thorough than others you receive. So much so that this guard wears medical gloves. It's not a cavity search but it's damn near.

Once they are convinced I'm not hiding anything, they give me back my hoodie and my shoes and take me down the hall and around a corner where I catch up to those from my group that went ahead of me. A guard up front has a stack of booking slips and he is sorting through them and calling us out one at a time to sort us into different holding cells.

Inside my cell I once again take a seat. These cells are rectangular with doors on either end and a toilet directly in the middle. It also has phones inside as well but nobody seems to be going for them since they are all left off the hook with the handsets dangling towards the floor. In my experience these rooms are usually just used for transitioning inmates to other parts of the jail, both coming in and going out, and my stay in them is never that long.

I take the time I do have however to study who I am with. There are still around five other guys that I came down with still with me but there are twice that many that seem to be much rowdier, talking loudly with vulgar language. Much more resembling a group of men at a bar near last call. Sharing stories back and forth about what they have done, where they did it, and who they did it to. In short, it's mostly bullshit but it sure is an easy way to pass the time. My guess is that most of that group is here from overnight lockups and are on their way to be processed out onto the streets, hence the higher level of excitement in their tone and behavior. They have probably spent the last twelve hours in these cells and are close to being able to get some real food and some sunlight so it's hard for them to keep it in. I know some of the jails use Forth Ave to process their inmates out as well but none of these guys have the look of someone who has been locked up for any long period of time.

The smallest guy in the cell also seems to be the most energetic of them as well, having to stand on the bench just to be able to look the other inmates in the eye while they are standing and to put himself above the rest of the group.

“Nah man, if you want to get your ass high as fuck without blowing your fucking money then you gotta score some Percocet. It's cheaper than Oxy. Then you crush that shit up, mix in some lime juice, and boil that shit in a spoon. Put it in your vein and trip fucking balls.”

You ever hear about how sending criminals to jail is just a way for them to learn more about crime? This is what they are talking about. Jail is full of wonderful little bits of information like this. Personally I find it enthralling.

“Where the fuck do you get the needles from?” another inmate asks.

“Easy, everyone has a relative that is diabetic or some shit. Just find out where they fill their drugs from and go in there and say your uncle sent you to pick up some needles for him. If they look up his name and see he has a script for them they will just sell them to you. Fuck most of the time they don't even ask for ID!”

And here I was thinking that the needle came free with the purchase of every bag of heroin, like a Happy Meal toy.

The group goes on like this for a while, no idea how long but long enough to get relaxed, when the guards open up the same door they let us in through. Again they have a stack of the booking slips and are calling out names and lining them up outside against the wall.

I'm almost disappointed when my name is called.

They lead us into the room across the hall one at a time. In here are a couple of guards and all of the finger printing equipment. First up is something I have yet to see on any of the police drama shows. It resembles a large copy machine only the glass where you would normally put the paper you want copied is where you put your hand. First they spray your hand with water, then they place your hand and fingers on the glass in different poses to get every angle. The machine records everything and will automatically update your file. Then, I'm guessing out of old habit, they dip your hands in ink and take your finger prints the old fashioned way.

Once we get all of the ink off of our hands, they move us into another holding cell. This one is the one I cannot stand. Rectangular like the last one but with only one door at one end and the toilet at the other. There are no phones in this room and there are metal rails about every four feet along the bench. I figure they are there to handcuff rowdy inmates to them but secretly I believe they are spaced out perfectly so that inmates cannot lie down comfortably, forcing them to lay on the floor.

My experience with this type of room is that you are usually held for longer periods of time if you are put in them. Again I get nervous about staying in Fourth Ave instead of continuing on to Tents. I easily reassure myself that they just finished our intake and are probably just getting ready to move us.

There are five of us being put into the cell with five others already waiting in there when we arrived. Among them is the young kid I first ran into. I can tell that the trip so far hasn't had a good toll on him as he looks even further withdrawn. The rest of the group he is in seems unusually quiet as well. I take a seat and start looking them over and soon see that one of them is a well-dressed black man who has his stare locked onto a short, skinny Hispanic male with tattoos and a shaved head. Everyone else in the group seems to have their attention drawn to the guy as well but only the black man in intensely watching him, almost looking as if he is expecting the Hispanic man to jump up and attack him at any moment. The rest of the group that I came in with must sense the tension as well because nobody starts making conversation at first.

Studying the Hispanic man for a few moments quickly confirms my first instinct. His eyes are wide open and intense. His fingers can't seem to stop fidgeting with themselves and his foot is bouncing his knee up and down a mile a minute. He is high on meth.

My experience with people on meth has taught me to tread carefully around them. They can be very impulsive with their emotions and can lash out quickly. The rest of the room can sense it to and are probably sizing up his state of mind before they can relax.

The silence is too much for my nerves so I go first.

“How long do you think our hands are going to smell like that crap they used to get the ink off?” I say to no one in particular.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see the guy on meth snap his head in my direction. I act like I don't notice and instead look over at the few guys that gave me a laugh.

“The smell doesn't bother me as much as the film it leaves.” One guy responds as he gets up and goes to the sink to rinse his hands off.

“You sure that's from the soap?” another inmate jokes and just like that the mood breaks and almost everyone starts to relax. Only the well-dressed black man and the meth head who he is staring at remain quiet and tense.

Of course in a few moments all of our conversations are revolved around our charges and our sentences. In jail everyone thinks they know exactly every letter of the law and they are experts on all aspects of the legal system so everyone is telling each other what they can expect from here on out. Of course it's mostly bullshit. However, of all of the bullshit being shoveled around, mine seems to be holding the most weight. There are two guys in the room who are unsentenced, one of them for a DUI he got last night, and I end up in a conversation with him on what he can expect. Since nobody is trying to contradict what I was saying, everybody seemed to agree that I was on the right track.

“Did you blow?” I asked him referring to the breathalyzer test that checks your blood alcohol levels.

“Yeah, they said it was .10. How bad is that?”

“Not too bad, just over the legal limit. Do you have any other charges or history?”

He shook his head in response.

“Well you might get away with just a day in jail then.”

“That's it!” he seemed to be elated.

“For jail time yeah, but you still will lose your license for a while, have to do probation and alcohol classes. Not to mention get a breathalyzer installed in your car.”

“Shit, how long do I have to have that fucking thing?” he said now looking dejected.

“I don't know. A year probably. It's seems to be different for everybody. I have to have one for two years.”

As soon as I say it I regret it. Having to have a breathalyzer for that long is a dead giveaway for how bad my DUI's were. The well-dressed black man turns his attention from the meth head slowly to me.

“You got a super extreme?”

Fuck.

“Yeah” I respond too shortly. It's like putting blood in the water and it feels like he is circling in on me now as he turns the rest of his body to face me.

“Is that all you did?”

I could lie. It wouldn't be hard at all. I spent years telling my wife lies about my drinking, so much so that I could do it at will with no warning at all. I had become a master of deceit in my own way. But when my wife forgave me for my last DUI I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't lie about it, or anything else for that matter, anymore. No matter how much it pains me I have to tell the truth, something I have not come to terms with yet myself.

After I told my wife I would never lie to her she started asking about every time that she had suspected me of drinking and I had lied to her. As an Atheist, it was the closest I have ever been to being in confessional. Every truth I told her brought on more feelings of betrayal, tears, but then finally a feeling of forgiveness. I had destroyed her wall of trust in me and with every truth I told her I was trying to rebuild that wall one brick at a time. So even now, in a cell full of criminals, I cannot manage to lie about what I did.

“No” I hear myself say absently. “There was a minor in my car at the time. Also it was my second extreme DUI within three months.”

I intentionally put the second part last hoping that no one asks who the minor was. I won't have to lie about it if nobody asks. I swore to tell the truth not tell the whole fucking story every time somebody asked right off the bat.

Everyone seemed to have caught on to my tone that I wasn't comfortable talking about it and the black man seemed to be content with my answers because he dropped the questions. The entire room seemed to go quiet for a minute until a dry, deep voice broke the silence.

“Are you a fucking lawyer?”

I didn't have to look at the meth head to know it was him asking, and the way everyone was staring at me I could tell I was the one he was asking.

“No” I said without looking back at him. “I've just been through some shit”. I tried to be as casual as I could as I said it.

“Bet your fucking smart.” His response seemed more like a statement than an accusation. Not wanting to set him off I finally looked at him and half shrugged. He seemed to buy it since his knee started bouncing again and he got a distant look in his eyes.

The tension in the room broke suddenly as the guards came to the door and called out the two guys who were unsentenced. After they got them out they left the door open as one guard took the two off. Once they were gone the two remaining guards called us all out and took us on another long, twisting trek through the halls of Fourth Ave.

None of the halls we were in now seemed familiar to me at all and I felt relief to seemingly be out of Fourth Ave all together. Eventually we ended outside of a large two storied room lined on one side with actual jail cells on both floors and inmates in stripes walking around inside. I recognized it from movies as what was referred to as a block.

As the first guard got to the door of the block he knocked hard on the glass and waited. On cue the inmates inside walked either to their cells or to the far end of the block away from the door. He then unlocked the door and led us in.

“Grab one blanket and head into that cell,” he said pointing to the closest cell to the entrance.

There was a pile of blankets folded neatly next to the cell and we each grabbed one and hurried into the cell as the inmates on the far end of the block started to bark and yell towards us. Nothing about what they said scared me, it was the way they looked that made me uneasy. We were a group of minor offenders headed to tents. I didn't know where we were exactly but I could tell these were criminals who had done something bad enough to warrant them not being able to be kept in low security. They were all well-built and heavily tattooed.

I looked back at the guards and saw one smiling. This was all part of the game the guards play with inmates. They keep us away from telling time. They keep us constantly in brightly lit white rooms with the AC on full blast and move us around constantly to keep us from getting comfortable. Now we are given a cell with the luxury of bunks and blankets but only feet away from dangerous criminals. Everything they do to us in this part of the jail is to keep us scared or off tilt.

As they close the door, locking us in, I stay near the door and watch the guards leave the block and lock us in. The inmates on the block seem to stay on their side of the block and keep a distance from our cell. They are there to scare us but they are clearly instructed to not get close enough to us to actually pose a real danger.

I turn back and find an empty bottom bunk. The lights are really dim in this cell so we all take the cue that we are supposed to use this time to catch a nap. I get comfortable, using the blanket as a pillow and welcome the nap to past the time. Closing my eyes, I start to think about how so far this hasn't been that bad. Halfway through the day already and it shouldn't be too much longer until I get to Tent City. I figure I will spend the next day acclimating to it and before I know it I will be out on my first work release break. Maybe this wouldn't be as horrible as I had thought. My ears hardly even register the sound of someone slipping off of their top bunk or the footsteps as they got closer to me. But there was no way I could miss the acrid smell of someone’s breath close to my face. I open my eyes and see the meth head inches away from me, staring right into my eyes.

Chapter 5

I don't dare move. Instead I study everything about his demeanor, trying to figure out what he wants. His eyes are as wide as he can keep them. They seem to never stray from my gaze even though they appear to be trembling slightly. His face is sunk in enough that I can clearly see his muscles protruding from clenching his jaw. Acne and scabs cover his face. I cannot see his hands, he is keeping them low and out of my field of vision. The intensity of his gaze is borderline frightening, the silence is worse.

“You're fucking smart, aren't you?”

I have no idea what to say so I kind of just shrug, my head never leaving my make shift pillow.

“Yeah, you are.”

I can't tell if he is telling himself that I am or if he is telling me.

“I guess you could say I know a little bit about a lot of things” is the only thing I can think to say. It must have been the right thing though because he seems to relax a bit and lean back a little before continuing.

“Yo, so I need you to help me out.” Who wouldn't want to help a meth head out six hours into their sentence. Of course there was no way I was going to turn him down.

“What's up?”

“Well, ya see, I'm on probation right and they're trying to page two my ass.” Page two is a reference to when you violate your probation and they prosecute you with it. It can mean increased probation restrictions or an immediate return to jail or prison. Knowing that he is being page two'ed does nothing to calm me.

“Ok” I respond flatly.

“Well the thing is it's not my fucking fault right.” He finishes the sentence and then sits there waiting for me to ask why. Part of me wants to see how long he will wait.

“What happened” I choose to ask instead.

“Well I was just chillin at my house, smoking some G.” He starts his story off with him smoking meth and still thinks whatever happened next isn't his fault. “…and I got this neighbor right. He's a fucking piece of shit. You know I caught him beating the shit out of his ten year old niece on his front lawn once so I went up to him and knocked one of his teeth out because that's some fucked up shit right. Well ever since then we don't get along to well. Now that piece of shit doesn't do shit all day but get high and he leeches off of his old lady who works like three jobs but he just takes the money and blows it on dope and if she gets a little lippy then he puts his filthy fucking hands on her. I mean does that shit sound right to you?”

What the fuck am I listening to? I decide to just shake my head.

“Yeah so after I knocked his tooth out he tried to get the cops on my ass. Like, I got a record because I fought my cousin once and I beat him with my chain, but that shit should stay in the family and somebody called the cops, probably my fucking neighbor. Whatever, so I did time right, but I'm putting that shit behind me, ya feel? But I got this probation on my back and they won't let me do shit, right so I get to feeling like I'm locked in a fucking cage again even though I'm on the outside and it's really fucking with my head. So like I said, I was getting high, just minding my own shit right, I mean I was at my house, I didn't start shit. But then I hear my neighbor and he's all outside and shit calling my name. I don't trust that spick fuck so I grab my chain and put it around my neck, let him know I'm real right, and I go outside. He's trying to sound all neighborly and shit, telling me he wants me to come over and see some kind of shit, I don't know what the fuck he was talking about, but then he says he's got some weed so of course I was like cool let’s hang and I went over to his house. But like once I was in there I got a really bad vibe you know. Like he wouldn't sit the fuck down or anything and he wouldn't turn his back to me so I'm thinking what the fuck is with this motherfucker right. Is he planning on jumping my ass or some shit because I don't see no fucking weed right. So I step up right, get in his face and ask him what the fuck his deal is right. Now he acts all fucking offended and shit, like he didn't have any shady shit planned right!? Well I'm not about that shit so I go to leave, I mean, I'm on probation right, I don't need to be fucking with that kind of shit so I try to do the right thing by leaving. Well that's when his punk ass cousin comes in the living room. I guess he was in the back playing video games and probably waiting to jump my ass but since I made a scene to fucking early I must have ruined their fucking timing and shit so he came wandering out unprepared for my ass so I pulled off my chain and started giving my fucking war cry and shit. Now they are all trying to tell me to calm the fuck down and get the fuck out but that was just a cover cuz I know they brought my ass there to pay my ass back but I wasn't having it. Anyways, bitch ass spick neighbor gets too fucking close so I swung my chain and I swear all's it did was wrap around his forearm but he just hits the floor screaming right. That's when I figured out that they didn't want to beat my ass they wanted to get me page two'ed and locked the fuck back up so I just took off running. The fucked up thing though was I dropped my chain so when the officers got there they had my chain and they asked if I knew whose it was and I was like that's mine officer, because I ain't no fucking liar and I wanted to get my chain back anyways. Next thing you know they are throwing me in cuffs and hauling me to this fucking hell hole. So what do you think?”

It takes me a moment to process that he even stopped the story. He said everything so fast I could barely tell when he was stopping to take a breathe.

“What do I think about what?”

“You know, like I got a good case right, I mean they entrapped my ass right.”

“Uh, yeah I guess you could go to the judge with that.” Holy shit.

“Well, yeah, it's like I fucking said right, I was just sitting around my house, I wasn't doing shit. But then he calls me over and promises me weed and shit. I'm mean yeah we had beef in the past but...”

It goes on like this over and over again for the better part of an hour. He retells the story from the beginning although every time it includes a different facet that wasn't there before or the situation changes a little, sometimes making the meth head look better, sometimes worse. At one point the story turned more into how he thought the neighbor had been trying to put the moves on his girlfriend and that's what motivated the fight, another time it seems that they were almost related as the neighbor’s girlfriend could have been the sister of his girlfriend. The details coming so fast that they all tended to blur together a bit. The whole time I was nodding in agreement and giving the occasional “yeah that's fucked up alright” but overall doing as little as I could to inspire him further. This was due to the first thing he said to me. He was on probation. He wasn't sentenced like the rest of us and already headed to jail. He was completely free this morning and has just been arrested. Instead of being held with the others during intake he was put here with us. Everyone else in our group I can view as relatively safe because they already have their fates cast, but not this guy. Add that to the fact that he is spun on meth and he is a virtual powder keg waiting to go off. I quickly decided to tread carefully. He only wanted advice because he believed I was experienced in law and could help him. I was going to play that part as far as I could to keep him calm.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a guard came to door and unlocked it. Meth head disappeared with lightning speed and I could hear him vaulting back up onto his bunk. The guard called out a name and I could hear meth head respond.

“Yeah, uh yes sir.”

“Grab your blanket and step out of the cell.”

Meth head scrambled to follow the directions but still managed to leave the blanket behind on his first attempt. Once he was out the door was shut again. Moments later we could hear the door to the block opening and shutting signaling that he was definitely taken away from our group.

Moments later I started to hear snickering coming from the other bunks. The snickering soon turned into laughter which in turn gave way to uproarious laughter.

“Holy shit! How fucking scared were you through that shit?” someone above me asked.

“Yeah, that was a fucking experience alright.” I responded letting out a laugh that was more out of relief to have that end than anything else.

“To bad you guys didn't exchange information, be a shame to see a friendship like that go to waste.” At that we all started roaring again. It felt good to have the tension be broken. Everybody at that point was chiming in their opinions.

“Dude that guy was scary as shit.”

“Man how did you stay so calm, I was up here and I was scared as hell!”

“What the fuck was his deal”

“Are you going to be his lawyer now?”

“Fuck no!” I responded. “I didn't have the heart to tell him I just watch a lot of cop shows!”

Soon though our attention goes back to the naps we were all supposed to be taking and we all start relaxing again. That idea was short lived however, as a guard came shortly after to take all of us away. We lined up and left the block single file, leaving our blankets in a bin next to the door on our way out.

More hallways and turns bring us to a room without any bars. My first impression is that it feels like a locker room. Simple rectangle with a metal bench going around the edge. However, at the back of the room there is an officer looking at us through a pass through window and behind him are tall piles of black and white striped uniforms and pink underwear.

“Strip down and keep your clothes in an organized pile, then line up to the window and wait for your name to be called.”

This was most definitely not part of the plan. At no time was I supposed to surrender my clothes and I definitely was not supposed to wear prison stripes and those damn underwear. Can't argue though so I do as I am told and strip to my birthday suit like everyone else.

You always have nightmares about standing naked in front of crowds but it is incredibly easy when everyone else has to do it as well. Soon my name is called and I go up to the window. He instructs me to show him each piece of clothing I have as he documents them and I put them into a plastic bag. The bag is then sealed and taken away from me and I am handed my new uniform. Well it's new to me at least. I get one striped shirt and matching elastic waist pants, a pair of those damned underwear as well as a pair of matching pink socks and a pair of orange rubber prison sandals.

I sink back towards the wall and put everything on and then wait for everyone else to go through the list. Afterword’s we are told to line back up in a single file and the officers then begin to shackle us. We get handcuffed and chains wrapped around our ankles, secured with padlocks. We are then taken along another long trip through the corridors. By this point I am completely turned around. It must have been at least a ten minute walk this time, ending at a corridor that actually did look a little familiar. Long, with a row of cell doors on the right side. The officers stop at the first door and call out three names. Those inmates are unshackled and put into the cells. The door shuts behind them and the group moves to the next door where names are called again. This time my name is on the list. My hands and ankles feel good to be free again even if they were not locked up for long.

This holding cell is just like the one I went into after being finger printed only it's a little bit longer. The cell was already almost full by the time I got there and now it was overflowing. Still, I managed to get a small spot to sit down on the floor that let me lean against the bench that another inmate was sleeping on. Everyone in this cell seemed exhausted and quiet. No grandstanding or loud conversations. This group seemed to be made up again of mostly people being processed in from their arrest. They are either waiting to see a judge or have already seen the judge and are waiting to be processed either out on the street or put into circulation, getting rotated through cells until their next court appearance. It feels like it should be after four pm so the chances of anyone else seeing a judge today is almost zero so everyone seems to be settling down for the night.

As I sit there I too start to reluctantly accept the fact that my plan has been completely tossed and have no idea when I will get out of Fourth Ave.

Chapter 6

In the mid fifties the kid's show Wallace and Ladmo started it's over thirty-five year run on Phoenix's local television station, KPHO. Every child growing up wanted to be a guest on the show or in the audience so they could have a chance to win a coveted Ladmo Bag. Ladmo Bags were given out to children for winning contests and such and were filled with all the goodies kids loved. Soda, chips, candy, even coupons to local family entertainment establishments, all packed into brown paper bags with Ladmo Bag printed on the front. Not getting a Ladmo Bag had become synonymous with having a bad child hood. Of course the Maricopa Sheriffs department started referring to the sack lunches that they handed out to inmates as Ladmo Bags turning it into something an adult would never want to have.

A Sheriff Joe Ladmo Bag was know to consist of an orange, a peanut butter sandwich, a cookie, and a bottle of juice. Prior to getting arrested, the only other detail that I knew about them was that the juice was a very specific kind. It came in a barrel shaped plastic container with a foil top lid. This kind of juice was wildly popular with parents in the mid to late eighties because of how inexpensive it was and the fact that kids downed it like crazy. The reason of course being that it had no real juice in it at all, mostly just sugar and added artificial flavorings.

It must now be some time around six pm Because the door to our cell opens and there stands two officers leading a pair of inmates on work detail handing out the Ladmo Bags to the rest of the jail inmates, us included.

Making sure not to make any actual contact with us, even though several inmates tried asking things like what time it was and when they were getting moved, the two inmates on job detail scoop up armfuls of Ladmo Bags and quickly hand them out to everyone in our cell. When this lunch program was first instituted they used the generic label-less brown lunch bags, hence the connection to the show's bags. However today they just hand them out in clear, thin, plastic bags.

I take mine and turn it over a few times to see what is in it. As expected I saw a small loaf of wheat bread, a small plastic packet of thick peanut butter, the juice barrel, the orange, and the cookie. The cookie is what I was looking for because each of the last two times I had the honor of having a Ladmo Bag the cookie was different. First being an oatmeal cream and the second time being a much blander ginger snap. I spot the ginger snap in my bag and frown.

Even though the last thing I ate this morning was peanut butter and jelly, I still eagerly start ripping apart my loaf of bread to spread the peanut butter. It was after all twelve hours since I had eaten or drank anything, not wanting to drink from the top of a jail toilet. After ripping up the loaf I carefully reached back into the bag for the peanut butter. In my experience the peanut butter was rarely sealed right and if one was too eager to grab it they would end up with it all over their hands. It was then that I noticed something different. I had a second loaf of bread.

I looked around and noticed I was, as far as I could tell, the only one with a second loaf. My lucky day.

I spread some peanut butter on the first loaf and started tearing into it. It is so dry and thick that my first instinct is to rip open the juice to wash it down, but that would be a mistake. The juice isn't that big and you don't want to be left with that damn peanut butter in your mouth after you were done. Instead I take another bite and while I struggle to break that down, I start ripping open the orange. Alternating bites between the sandwich and the orange gets it down a lot smoother. Soon I'm down to the back up loaf, the cookie and the juice.

The guy next to me looks to be done with his and visually still hungry. I nudge him with my elbow and hold out my extra loaf. He takes it with a nod and starts tearing into it. This is how things develop in confinement. All around me I can see people handing out their fruit for trade or goodwill. Nobody knows anyone here and we all feel safer making friends.

I turn back to my ginger snaps. As I pop the first one in my mouth I start to rip open the juice. The combining sugars make me near blissful. After giving up drinking I went straight to food, in particular, sweets. My diet having been mostly comprised of high sugar content alcohol and mixers left my body craving them badly when they were gone. Chugging a soda now gave me the same emotional fix I used to get from filling a glass with sprite and vodka. Of course the drinking had already given me a horrible health image and the eating and soda consumption only served to worsen that so at current I was roughly ninety-five pounds overweight.

My physical health was something that was on my list of taking care of. It was second though, to my mental health.

Soon everyone was finished up with their meals and we started to try and sleep a bit. If nothing entertaining is happening in the cell, which more often than not there would be something going on, then everyone usually tries to revert back to sleeping to help move the time along.

I still didn't have enough room to lay down but after a while the officers came in to stir the cells again and they moved just enough people out of ours so that I could stretch out a little.

Around me I could see other inmates take the toilet paper rolls from the toilet in the back to use for pillows. Other inmates pulled off their shoes or their jail sandals to use. Some were smart enough, and not hungry enough, to eat their bread so they used that. I opted to just use my arm and curled up.

If I actually slept it was sporadic. It's nearly impossible for me to actually relax right now since I have no idea what I'm doing here or where I am going. Eventually though time does begin to pass. The cell doors open from time to time to either move people in or out, but nothing really changes until eleven-fifteen at night. I know it was eleven-fifteen because the large black man that entered our cell at that time proudly told us.

“Caught a look at the deputies watch, It's eleven-fifteen right now.”

He was met with mixed thank you's and groans as he made his way to the center of a bench and asked them to make some room. I could immediately tell the cell was going to liven up because this guy had personality and judging by the look on his face he wanted to have some fun. Tell some stories or jokes, that kind of thing. It would be a welcomed change to the cell atmosphere so I pushed myself back up to a sitting position and decided to start things off.

“Thanks,” I said to him. “Where are you coming in from?”

“Processing,” he replied. “Just finished getting my fingers printed by some fine ass dark skinned girl with a fat ass!”

This comment gets the attention of a few other inmates and soon a lively discussion is engaged revolving around the body parts of the several different officers currently on duty. The male officers of course being degraded while the female officers were also being degraded, albeit for different reasons. That runs it's course quickly though and soon the “what are you in for” game starts up again.

Like me, most people are in for DUI or drug related charges. There are a few robbery and domestic abuse charges in here as well but none of the inmates with more severe or violent charges are in jail stripes yet, so they have been charged but not yet convicted. The only ones that stand out to me are our large time keeper and a man leaning in the corner who randomly yelled out “I was just trying to sleep and those fucking cocksuckers spilled my booze and drug me in here!” Nobody had asked him any questions before his outburst and nobody seemed to want any further details after. He just went back to rocking back and forth in the corner. In my opinion he was mentally ill and probably homeless, something that almost everyone here had picked up on as well, and when your locked in room with someone who is mentally ill you don't want to do anything to encourage another outburst.

Our timekeeper friend was a different story though all together. The more attention he received the more excited he got. Soon he was standing up and pacing the cell. Giving out what looked like a comical lecture on how to steal from different department stores. His favorite seemed to be Walmart.

“Man, I tell you, Walmart has been such a blessing to me and my family.” He said as he strode around the cell. “Whenever we have been in need, Walmart has been so wiling to just give us what we wanted. All you have to do is look confident and you can walk out of there with whatever you want. And they got a policy that says that if a suspect crosses the threshold of the exit then they is free to get away with whatever they want.”

Wanting to keep him going, I continually kept asking him questions or hitting him with jabs to keep him laughing and entertaining us.

“Quick question.” I chimed. “What are you in here for again?” This was met with laughter from the entire group as he had already told us earlier that he was booked on suspicion of robbery.

“Hey now, it ain't like that!” He flashed us a big old jolly smile as he turned to me. “They brought me in on “suspicion” of robbery, not robbery. Ya see what I'm sayin. They ain't got shit on me. I mean, they know that I did it, which is true. I'm guilty as fuck! But they can't prove that I did it. Shit, judge will probably throw it out before my first court date.”

One of the few inmates that was comparable to the large size of our Walmart spokesperson asked the obvious question. “So what you gonna give me to not testify that you confessed!”

“What you want?” he replied incredibly fast. “TV? Laptop? I can get whatever you want son! Tell you what, I'll get you one of those new sound bars everyone's got! Blow the roof right off your trailer!”

“Hold the fuck up” I managed say through my own laughter. “You can be as confident as all hell, but if you try to walk out the front door of Walmart with an expensive, unbagged item, they are going to ask you for your receipt.”

“I'll have a receipt motherfucker!”

“Yeah, hows that?”

“I'll go in, buy the sound bar, in cash, then leave. Then I'll come back an hour later, go to the back and pick up the exact same sound bar, put it in my cart and take it and the fucking receipt from the first damn time right the fuck up to customer service. I'll tell them I decided I didn't want it after all and get a refund. Simple as that. Lemme ask you something. You ever go through a Walmart parking lot without seeing a receipt someone just threw away? Hell I see them every damn time and I check every damn one of them. Sooner or later you will see one with a tv or some shit paid in cash. I grab that up, go right to the back and find the exact same TV, go get paid son!”

Another lovely skill that I would have never known about if I hadn't gone to jail.

This goes on for a bit longer, keeping us all entertained until finally the door opens and it's my name that is called. This time it is a short trip around a few corners and then I'm put back into the exact same cell I was in when I learned how to cut Percocyt with lime juice. Curious, I make my way to the back of the cell, where the other door is and a couple of other inmates with stripes on are gathered.

We share a mix of head nods and “whats up's” and then I ask them where they are headed. All of them say Tents. I start to get nervous again thinking I must be close. This is a cell for people either coming in or out of Fourth Ave and I am definitely done with the coming in part. Plus I'm finally with a group of people in the same process as me. Realizing this we quickly introduce ourselves.

There is Pablo, a tall, thick Mexican. He tells us he is in construction and got caught on his third drug charge and now will be doing a full year in Tents on work release. That is the longest you can serve and still be allowed to stay in Tents.

Next is Brian. He is a young black man and this is his second time through tents though he doesn't say what for. He says it is just for two weeks though. He also comes off as being gay because of his mannerisms. I wonder if he is afraid about how he will be treated because of this, he doesn't seem to care though.

Then there is John. John is still in his street clothes but he said he was on the way to Tents just like us. John is a young upper middle class white man going into Tents for a forty five day trip for his second DUI as well but his story was a bit more interesting than usual.

“So the cop pulls me over” he starts off as he pushes his long blonde hair out of the way. “I was speeding so I figured oh well, I got caught. He asks me for my license and registration and as I open my wallet I immediately notice that I left my weed card on top.”

Arizona is one of the states that had legalized the medical use of Marijuana. To legally purchase or possess it you had to have a doctor authorize it for you and then the state issue a card that would allow you to purchase from approved dispensaries.

“So the cop never takes his eyes off of my weed card, not even when he is pretending to look at my paperwork. Finally he asks me if I smoked any weed that day and I said no, that I hadn't smoked any since yesterday. Big mistake. He asks me to get out of the car and runs me through a sobriety test. Like I said, I was sober since the day before so I passed without a problem. Well the officer disagrees, tows my car so they can search it, even though if I did have weed on me, which I didn't, it would have been legal to carry! Hauls me off to jail and they blood test for weed. Test comes back positive.”

“But you said you were sober?” I ask.

“I was sober. Turns out in Arizona they don't have any laws on file for THC to be active in your system to bust you for a DUI, you just need to fail a drug test. Weed stays in your blood for up to a month after you smoke it. As soon as the cop saw my card and I told him I had smoked sometime in the near past he knew he had me dead to rights.”

“That's fucked up son. Couldn't you fight that though?” Pablo asked.

“I tried, my father and I spent over twenty thousand dollars on lawyers but we came up dry. Until the laws for DUI's catch up with the Marijuana laws people are going to get screwed. “

Such a weird circumstance. Prior to ever getting a DUI, I saw a substance abuse therapist and he wanted me to get a weed card. In his opinion it would treat my depression and anxiety without destroying me like alcohol did. Guess I could have been screwed either way.

A few minutes later the doors opened and an officer came in with a list of names. “When I call out your name, step out of the cell and line up against the wall to get shackled. The bus to LBJ is leaving in fifteen minutes and if you fuck around you will be left behind here for another twenty-four hours.”

Lower Buckeye Jail, or LBJ as it was always referred to as, was the closest county jail to Tents City. I had always heard it was a rough place, filled with violent offenders with short tempers and sentences. Towards the end of the list of names, the officer called out Johns name.

“But, but I'm not going to LBJ.” He half asked.

“You're on the list so step out and get shackled or rot here for another day.” was the officers reply without ever even looking up from the list.

Not wanting to stay here, and who could blame him, John sullenly exited the cell.

A little bit more time went by, no idea how much, but eventually the cell door opened and a new set of officers were there and this time they were calling for inmates to step out and get shackled to board the bus bound for Tent City.

Chapter Seven

Pablo, Brian, and I are all called out of the cell one by one then handcuffed and shackled. As an added precaution we are all chained together to prevent one of us from making a run for it. We are led down a few more hallways before coming to a door that leads outside.

“We'll be seeing you all again soon.” One of the officers said as they were handing us off to the officers waiting outside the doors.

Brian was the only one of us brave enough to voice what we were all thinking. “Not me, I ain't never coming back here again.”

The officer just gave a small chuckle and rolled his eyes. “Sooner or later, everyone of you come back.” With that, he closed the door.

I always wonder if that officer had really become jaded towards inmates or if he was trying to inspire us to not come back in some way. If it was what he was doing, it worked. I never wanted to step foot back inside that jail again and his words helped to solidify my resolve.

The officers take us through an underground parking garage. About a hundred feet from the door is what looks like a brown school bus at first glance. The gold sheriffs emblem on the side is unmistakable though. So far in my short life of crime I have ridden in a police car on my first trip to Fourth Ave and then in a police van on my second trip. Now I get to ride in a bus.

As we get to the door of the bus we are disconnected from each other one by one and then led inside. Rather than the bus having seats like you would expect to see, each side of the bus has a row of small cages. Each cage is about a yard wide and has a seat that faces the front of the cage. We are led to the back of the bus to our cages. Once secured we sit and wait for a little while being only guarded by a single officer who sits in the drivers seat. Of course we are all shackled and locked in cages so it's not like we need much more than that.

We start back up with idle conversation again, making sure at first to keep our voices low. Mostly we just make jokes about what it's like to be be in a jail transport bus since we have all seen them in movies and on TV. After a few more minutes the officer up front yells for us to be quiet and reminds us not to talk to other inmates during transfer. As he finishes we can see the door to the jail open up again and as the light spills out we see the officers bringing another string of inmates towards the bus. This time though, they are female.

Four in total. Like us they are led to the door of the bus then one by one unchained from the rest and led to her personal cage, difference being that their cages were to the front of the bus. There are maybe ten cages total and then a row of seats in the front. Since we have the three cages towards the back and they have the four in the front there isn't that much room actually between us. As if realizing that at the same time, the officer gives all of us another warning about not talking during transport. Another officer joins the first and takes the seat behind him as he radios in that we are on our way. Soon the bus lurches forward and we are on our way.

It is a cold night in Phoenix and the air in the bus is just as cold. I can hardly tell though because I am too busy trying to catch a glimpse out of the window to see where we are going. I know where Tent City is but I'm nervous so I cannot help myself. Pablo on the other hand doesn't seem interested in anything other than the girls on the bus. He started talking to them in a whisper until he got one to respond. She was the only one of the four that didn't look scared or sad. Like most male inmates she seemed to have an almost hardened look of calm about her. Whether it was an act or not she definitely knew how to look cool in the situation. The other girls, none of them look over 21, all seem lost and panicky. The only female jail I know of is Estrella which doesn't have a very good reputation which would explain their concern. A thought hits me though and I realize I have no idea if women are permitted to serve in Tent City. I don't care enough to ask anyone and Pablo is to busy trying to get a phone number to ask her any questions that I might be able to overhear and learn from so I just file that away for later.

The entire trip takes maybe fifteen minutes before we get to the jail. We pull up to a large chain linked fence that pulls open for us and then closes again after we pass. The guards park near a building and then begin to take the girls out of their cages and leading them into the only door to the building we can see. We wait for a few minutes with just the driver again until a pair of officers come out and do the same thing for us.

Getting out of my cage was a bigger relief than I thought it would be. I hadn't realized how cooped up in there I was feeling until I got to stand up and get out since I was so distracted with where we were going. I am the last off the bus and I shuffle my way behind the others through the door to the jail.

Inside is a large oval room. There is a guards station to the left as we enter and then holding cells line the wall to the right all the way around to the opposite side where there is hallway headed out. In one of the cells near the hallway I can see the heads of the women who came before us.

As one of the guards starts removing and collecting our shackles and handcuffs another starts going through our paperwork. We are each asked a few random questions to make sure we are who we say we are. On the last two times I was being released from Fourth Ave they had done the same thing only a bit more rigorous. It donned on me at the time that at some point in time an officer let the wrong prisoner out so now they had to double and triple check before release to make sure it was the right inmate, a thought that to this day still makes me smile. Now they are doing the same thing to make sure that we are the right inmates coming into jail. The questioning isn't as intense though, I guess more inmates are trying to get out of jail than in.

After confirming who we are they move us to one of the cells near the rooms entrance, on the opposite side of the room from the woman's cell. There is already an inmate in our cell when we get there, an older looking man with long hair who looks as exhausted as we do. The cell itself is very small in comparison to what I had been in all day. Circular and maybe eight feet in diameter. Again, another room designed to hold us without letting us get comfortable.

After the officers shut the door I find I cannot hold in my curiosity anymore.

“So is this Tent City?

“Kind of” Brian said. “This is the processing room for both in yard and release yard. Estrella too.”

“So where do we go from here?'

“From here we will get our bunk assignments then they will throw us on the yard.” At this Brian leaned back. “That's it for me, I'm going to in yard so I'll be stuck there for two weeks.”

“Not me,” the older man interjected. “I'm getting furlough for my thirty days, so I guess I will be on a different yard than you.”

Brian just shrugs.

“Yeah, we are heading to the release yard too,” I motion to Pablo. We introduce ourselves. The older man is Marty. He is in on a page two because he got in an argument with his ex wife and she called the cops. Since he was on probation they rolled him up. The lawyer fees would have been to expensive and the court was offering work furlough so he took a deal.

So far I have still been lucky. Whenever I have been asked about why I'm in here I have gotten away with just saying a DUI. If anyone questions why I'm doing thirty days for it I just say it's because I go two in a row. This answer so far has satisfied everyone's curiosity. Hopefully I will process out for release before anyone gets to curious about it. After that I don't plan on doing much other than eating and sleeping in here so I hope to avoid getting to close to someone and them getting bored enough to want to know any more details. It's not that I think it would be a bad thing if other people knew what I did, I'm just too ashamed to tell them. I can still hardly look at myself in the mirror so explaining it to criminals in jail that I am locked up with is not something I look forward to and will avoid if I can.

After what seems like forever since all of our patience for sitting in a room and staring has been exhausted, we are finally moved. Once again we are pulled out of our cell and handcuffed. This time without shackles. We are lined up and marched down the hallway.

The officer leading us this time seems really relaxed compared to the other ones that had been ushering us all day. Several times he turned his back to us to open a door or lead us. This is another reminder about where we are. Tents is low security for non violent short timers. Who would want to risk being given a longer sentence locked up in LBJ or Durango at this point? The officers know this. From here on out they are our babysitters and we don't pose as much of a threat to them.

After a few gates and turns we come up to a few pallets of boxes filled with empty water bottles.

“Grab one bottle and keep moving,” the officer says, barely breaking stride.

I grab my bottle and quickly follow. The hallway itself feels like being in a high school at night. Dark and quiet with similar scenery. We pass by several rooms that are closed by doors rather than the thick metal locking jail doors. At one point we pass through a hall with one wall covered with windows. Passing by it quickly I can make out bunks staked two high but other than that it is too dark to make out what was inside.

The officer brings us to a door finally that opens up into a brightly lit cafeteria. Going through feels like stepping into a whole different world. The cafeteria is lit just like the cells in Fourth Ave, bright as hell. The first thing I notice is at the far end of the room, near what looks like a large exit and restroom area are dozens of inmates in stripes are fighting for position around a few sinks so they could get enough soap and water to shave. The environment is loud and chaotic, something I wasn't expecting. I'm so caught off guard I don't hear the guard tell us to sit and have to be pulled to my seat by Pablo.

The walls surrounding the cafeteria are covered with lockers while the entire floor has bolted down stainless steel tables with seats. We take our seats at the table closest to the door we just came through which is also near what looks like a glassed off bank teller window that is so reflective you almost cannot see through it. Next to the glass is a speaker.

“Stay seated until the speaker calls out your name,” the officer states and then he passes our paperwork through the teller window slot and leaves through a door on the other side of the window. I'm shocked that we are suddenly left unguarded. Nobody else seems to be bothered by that fact. Brian however does give us all a mournful look.

“Hate to tell you guys but you just got dropped off on in yard.”

Chapter Eight

I cannot even comprehend what Brian just said.

“In yard” I say, half questioning.

“Yup, in yard. You guys are in the wrong damn place.” he responds with a cringe. “Everyone in here does their time inside only, no release.”

“Relax” Pablo tells me, probably because he can see the worry on my face. “We are probably still just processing. Last time I was here I heard them calling people for furlough transfer all the time.”

Brian just shrugged. “I hope you're right, for your sake's.”

Shit, this was not part of the plan or anything I had heard could happen. I can quickly start feeling my anxiety creeping up my spine and my hands start trembling. I need to keep calm.

“What are those guys over there doing?” I motion towards the guys shaving.

“Food factory guys. It's their job to go prep the food for the day so they have to get up earlier than everyone else and get ready. They are huge on shaving here so you gonna get checked every day.” Brian said. “No beards or goatees allowed boys, sorry.”

I run my hand over my goatee. I hadn't trimmed it in a few days so shaving it off completely would not be fun. I can see Marty doing the same thing.

Looking around the rest of the cafeteria the only other things I notice of interest are the two TV's mounted at the front of the room, one playing ESPN and the other on the Weather Channel, and the two clocks posted on opposite ends of the room. I am relieved to see that it is three-thirty in the morning. Not that the time itself matters, just the fact that I have access to a clock is reassuring.

We wait at our table watching the food factory workers finish up getting cleaned up and they work their way out the exit. I take note that in between the two banks of sinks seems to be a large restroom area. Everyone seems to make their way through it and I can see a urinal from where I am sitting. I also notice that before going in, the inmates have to go to the other side of the exit to a hanging chain that holds several rolls of toilet paper and pull off a portion prior to going in. I'm locked up with people that cannot be trusted with toilet paper, nice.

To the left of the bathrooms is another opening that looks from here to be a shower room. It is almost halfway in the middle of the room so everyone showering would be visible to the majority of people in the room. Just great.

All of the Food Factory workers finally finish up and exit the cafeteria leaving the room unnervingly quiet. An occasional inmate comes in from time to time to wander around but other than that there is nothing else going on.

Eventually the speaker breaks the silence by calling Marty up. He goes to the glass and says “Yes Sir.” The only response is “bunk number 1512”.

“Are we going to be moved to the furlough yard soon?” he asks but the man behind the mirror doesn't seem interested.

“Only thing I know is what your bunk number is.” And then he calls up Brian. Next comes Pablo then finally me.

“Bunk 1904.”

As he finishes an officer comes in from the exit and tells us to follow him. We head out into the cold night and I get my first glance at Tent City. Honestly it isn't much since all I can make out when we exit the door is three military tents in front of us. It's to dark to see any further.

The officer leads us down a ramp to ground level and then takes us around the corner of the cafeteria. A little bit further and we are taken into a large gated cage area. Once inside the officer tells us to strip.

I know I live in Arizona but it is late January and four in the morning so it's not likely to be over forty degrees outside. A few days in the past week when it rained it got below thirty even. So being asked to strip naked outside isn't something I was keen on doing. I don't have time to object however because the officer sees me hesitating.

“I said strip, now!” he yells as he pushes me forward.

Not wanting another push I start peeling off my clothes.

“Toss your dirties into the hamper on the right. Keep your sandals and follow me.” The four of us follow him, naked and shivering, over to a wall filled with clean sets of clothes.

“Grab a set of thermals, stripes, socks and underwear. Fast.”

This time we don't need any added encouragement. The four of us start rummaging through the piles looking for the right sizes. This time we are adding thermal pants and shirt to the uniform which is a welcomed addition giving how cold we are.

Once dressed we are told to move further down the line and grab three blankets. Of course they are pink. They also hardly qualify as blankets being barely thicker than sheets. After our arms are full of them the officer points towards the exit to the laundry area and flatly says “go find your bunks.”

And that is it. The officer is staying behind and we are being sent out in the dark to find our tents and bunks. Luckily for us Brian and Pablo have been here before. Brian helps Marty find his tent while Pablo takes me since we are in the same one.

“Try to keep quiet when we get there. Don't want to make a first impression by waking everyone up early.” He stops in front of a tent and opens the flap half way and looks at the floor before shaking his head and shutting the flap.

“The numbers are written on the floor of the entrance. First two numbers are the tent number, last two are the bunk number. I'm nineteen-oh-one so tent nineteen first bunk. Bunk numbers start at the bottom left near the entrance. Bottom bunk is one, top bunk is two and so forth going around the room. Bunk numbers should also be painted on the bunks but we won't be able to see them.”

“My bunk is nineteen-oh-four, so I should be next to you only on top right?”

“Yeah.”

We reach another tent and he peaks inside again. This time he must see the right number because he looks back at me and gives me a thumbs up then pushes the rest of the way through the flap.

I follow, trying to be as quiet as I can. It is almost completely dark inside so I stop as soon as I am in to see if my eyes will adjust. It helps a little bit and I can now make out the shape of the bunks lined up on both of my sides. Remembering what Pablo said, I reach out with my left hand and feel the metal bunk. I can feel it shift as Pablo gets settled in his bunk on the bottom. I reach forward and feel the first bunk end and then after a moment of drifting in midair I make contact with the next bunk.

I stop and listen and soon hear someone breathing on the bottom bunk. My eyes haven't adjusted enough yet so I move as carefully and slowly as I can get into my bunk.

I move closer to the bunk and I can see there is a plastic coated foam mat on top of the metal frame but nothing else. I put my blankets on the mat and try to unfold them to cover the entire mat. I have no idea if it is clean or not and don't want to risk it.

It's not the easiest task though. My body hasn't recovered from being exposed to the cold yet and I'm shivering bad enough to make my movements harder to control. Eventually I feel that they are straight enough and decide to try and climb in. The inmate below me is laying with his head towards the middle of the room so I move towards the wall of the tent hoping that if my footing slips it wont bother him to much. I poke around with my foot and find a small metal panel at the very end, probably there to keep the mat in place. I push off of it as I grip the top bunk and end up sliding up to the top rather than hopping. It has to look ridiculous. I'm just glad I made it up on my first try. Pablo is probably a foot taller than me and they put him on the bottom while my short fat ass has to jump up to the top.

As soon as I get up my entire blanket set up falls apart. Nothing is anchored down so every move I make just makes it worse. I am trying to keep one blanket on the bottom while using the other two for a pillow and a top blanket. After tossing for a minute I become to afraid that of waking my bunk mate so I get up on my knees and spread one blanket out. Then I quickly lay on it and throw the other two on top of me and give up on the idea of a pillow. My feet are still hanging out and that is when I realized that my sandals are still on. I reach down and pull them off, making one last ditch effort to cover my feet up and then I realize that I have no idea what to do with the sandals so I just kind of tuck them next to me and try to close my eyes.

The cold is still overwhelming, keeping my body tense. Not to mention that my anxiety is killing me since I have no idea where I am or when I am getting to where I need to go. It is cold, dark, and I am surrounded by sleeping strangers all of which are convicted criminals. I have been up now for almost twenty-four hours but sleep seems no where in site. I lay there shivering, wondering if my wife is able to sleep. I hope she is not too worried about me. I hope she is warm, safe, and sleeping. Three things I'm not.

For the first time today I have no expectation of someone coming at any moment to move me to somewhere else so I try to relax and look around a bit. The cold doesn't subside however and soon I find myself pulling my blankets over my head to try and trap more heat underneath them.

And there I stayed until Kate Smith woke me up.

Chapter Nine