Klempner
The novelty of my situation has worn thin.
My cell companions are not inspiring company. A couple of street hookers share the bench opposite me. Perhaps they’ve been arrested for plying their trade. On the other hand, judging by the state of their veins, they could have been busted for possession.
A young i***t flushed with courage and whiskey thought he was tough until he tried it on with me and I demonstrated otherwise. He’s quiet enough now, sitting as far away from me as he can, using up the oxygen as he nurses a couple of cracked ribs. In the next cage, a drunk lies snoring. He’ll cause no one any problems until he wakes up, unless you count whichever poor bastard has to clean up the pool of vomit he donated to the City authorities.
The place stinks.
The outer door clang
