It was the best of times, it was the worst of times

APWA "It was the best of times It was the worst of times It was the age of wisdom It was the age of foolishness It was the epoch of belief It was the epoch of incredulity It was the season of light It was the season of darkness It was the spring of hope It was the winter of despair. -Charles Dickens 'A Tale of Two Cities' + The above quote is from my favorite book, the above quote is from my most disliked book. How strange and confounding that we see and relate to a antique of a book dealing with dangerous and archaic laws. I try to stay focused on the positive, but the scars are internal. I sit here, in a confinement cell for a death I had nothing to do with. I look in the scratched up mirror and see what they must see. Tattooed face, scars on lips and eyebrows, X'd break scars on my knuckles from a life of violence and understand. It doesn't matter that I didn't kill that dude, I look like a fucking carcature of violence, so, if the peg fits, right? But no, my inner warrior resists, says, 'man, fuck that, I am not what you perceive.' So, for the last 30 something days I've sat in the box, under investigation, while they try and figure out the truth. Even if they do, and realize that there is no blood on my hands, no stain on my soul, the best I am looking at is being locked down until they send me to some other camp in this wonder ridden sunshine state. Which actually kinda sucks, because due to Covid-19 there aren't any transfers, so people have been locked back here for months, 5, 6 months. No reading material, no access to phones to contact and check on loved ones. People are stressed, and live in hot, sweaty squalor (no AC in Florida prisons) and do what most people do in situations like this. They get high. Well, what do they get high on? The cheapest, most dangerous drugs available, K2, meth and O'd on psyche pills. I say "they" as if I am somehow removed from them, but the reality is that we are inextractable. I am "they" and "they" are me. If I sound like I am complaining, I am not. I am just bruised and angry. I'm tired of the insanity of the box. I am tired of the stress of not being able to check on my elderly grandmother. I am tired of worrying. This is my testament, and if you want to know the rest, then follow me on down. John DiTullio Hamilton Correctional Inst (Annex) Jasper, FL 32052