Transcription
"S-o-n-n-of-a-B-I-T-C-H!" Prisoner —63 groans to the other two at his table, Prisoner —33 and Prisoner —97.
"What?" —33 says.
—63 gets up, sits in a new seat, still at the same table but facing a different direction. He had no food in his cell. No money on the ConnectNetwork.com S.C. prisoner account and the "sausage jambalaya" is all he has.
"What?" —97 asks, a little less worried than —33.
But it's not another gang fight, there aren't any sharp objects out poised for action. Only blung.
It's a sausage.
And it has an eye!
It's looking at —63's cells: the "preacher."
He's mad as fucking HELL!
It's not blinking. Just staring rudely, holding its breath.
The officer is standing there, she's posing, and sausage boy has a buddy sitting on the table with his ass in his face. Double the stimulation?
Who fucking knows how a spider monkey thinks?
Who fucking cares? He's playing prisoner parkour, no care that it's a cafeteria.
"Look," someone yells. "It's a sausage. And it's choking!"
Then: "Someone go get —93, he knows Heimlich."
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