12 Jun. 74
G.
Gregson’s back, and the bastard is gunning for me. He thinks I had something to do with his stabbing. I told him he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but he doesn’t give a s**t. He’s taken me off laundry duty, which I only just got put on, and signed me up for bathroom duty. He won’t let me go near the showers. I have to scrub the toilets and the puddles of piss around them. Those bloody toilets are bad enough when you have to sit on them to s**t. Try scrubbing them out. Then the bastard goes and pisses all over one of the stalls I’d just cleaned. He’s not going to win. I won’t let him. He won’t break me. He’s just waiting for me to f**k up or talk back to him, and then he’s going to throw me into solitary. Bugger that for a joke. No way. Especially after what
