Yellow Fingerbones in a Gilded Wooden Box

One hundred years of technology. Cars, microwave ovens, fax machines. Yet the prison system had stayed the same. Like a huge boulder in the stream of evolution, effortlessly resisting the human drive for improvement. Thoughts like these came mostly came to him at night. In between lights out, and his biological need for sleep. It was hard to imagine a world outside while staring at the stained mattress compressing the rusted coils above him. Hard to fathom the people running around making deadlines, and keeping up with the Joneses. Here, there were no deadlines. Only daily routine. Breakfast at five. Dinner at four. Lights out! at 9:30. He could see the highway lights far away through the small barred window above him. Striped shadows cast on the concrete before dying out. Behind these walls, was a different planet. Far removed from the bright face of society. Only the crickets kept him company in the slow and humid Texas night.

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