
As I walked by a bookcase in the dayroom, I casually set down a mini-Butterfinger on top of it and walked away. Attached to the Butterfinger was a Post-It note with the words, “Free Butterfinger, Merry Christmas.”
Looking around the day room, I saw that there were only a few guys out there, and none of them were paying attention to me.

So here we are. Another holiday season behind concrete and razor wire fencing. What number is this? I think it’s my 28th and Felicia’s fifth, but I’d need a calendar to tell you for sure. I often wonder, does it really matters at this point?