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Restless

I woke up at one am. Couldn’t get back to sleep, restless: want to do something; but there’s nothing to do in this tiny, toilet-sized, “two-man” cage. At least all the children are quiet; even “snotgobbler”, in the top rack, isn’t thrashing around, trying to sleep 24/7. He’s got autism spectrum disorder, and a disgusting habit of loudly snorting his snot and buggers, then swallowing them. He does this most after he has gobbled down his chow quickly, and I’m still trying to eat. I only call him snotgobbler in my mind. I don’t say anything, because though it’s disgusting, the prison Kops could easily put someone worse in here. I don’t want to run him off and get some young punk who thinks I’m going to feed, entertain and protect him.

Quietly, I get up and do 50 push-ups, then put one mark on today’s tally, for the past 3 or 4 years, I’ve forced myself to do daily calisthenics. I have done them frequently, though irregularly, for about 8 years- ever since they moved me to this extremely unhealthy corporate captivity center. Sick or well, I put 15 marks, minimum, on the daily tally. If I’m too sick to do 15, I catch up each day after I get well. I in my 60s. The youngsters often remark when they watch me do my 20 chin-ups. They smoke and shoot the dope and tobacco that the Kops bring in and tell me, “I hope I’m half as good a shape as you when I get your age!” I hope they are too; most of them anyway. More than this, I hope they get as knowledgeable and discerning as I am. They’ll need it to survive their individual futures as marked men. I’m trying to teach them something every day. Some of it sinks in. a lot of them are better men for it, but only marginally. This is small improvement, but much better than “negligibly”. It adds up

I continue to do my part…