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second checkpoint. We passed through a metal-detector, were cleared by another guard, and proceeded inside. The cuffs and shackles were removed and I was released to the custody of a third guard.
    "Cell Block A...er...Randall," said the guard, as he glanced at the paperwork. As we walked through the corridor I noticed that the cells were all empty. Three tiers of human cages awaiting their inhabitants' return from the prison yard, mess hall, or showers.
    "In here," the guard instructed. "Don't leave the cell. Yard time will be over in a few minutes. Everyone'll be back for lock 'n' count." As he turned and walked away he mumbled something like "Enjoy your stay." A little prison-guard humor, I supposed.
    The cell contained only an upper and lower bunk, a seatless toilet with a single faucet sink attached to it, and a small stool and table. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined myself inside a prison cell, planning a charade which, if it failed, could cost me my life. My thoughts flew to Amy and Alex. I wondered what they were doing right that very moment. Maybe Alex was throwing one of his famous tantrums over not wanting to eat lunch. Amy would eventually triumph, with that special blend of love and reasoning she so expertly mixed together. Man , do I miss them ! I shook the thought from my mind. Got to stay alert . Can't get melancholy thinking about home . I forced myself to concentrate on the business at hand and continued to scope out the cell.
    The lower bunk had pictures of naked women taped to the wall. Half were of girls straddling motorcycles. It was obvious this was my target's bunk, so I decided not to invade his space. I removed my shirt, climbed onto the upper bunk, and waited, listening to the distant sounds of radios and the occasional shouting of profanities echoing through the halls.
    I was startled by the sudden appearance of a tall, muscular prisoner who looked to be a well-preserved fifty. He stood at the entrance to the cell, silent and imposing, scoping out the new guy on the block. I stared straight into his eyes. I wondered if he'd behave like one of those monkeys in the zoo the teachers had always told us not to stare at because they would find it threatening. Of course all the kids in the eighth-grade class immediately began to stare away, causing the small creatures to flip out and scream and dance—to our endless delight.
    Fortunately for me, after about thirty seconds the inmate, seemingly satisfied, started to walk away. It was then I noticed the other figure, who had previously been out of view. I was shocked to see what I first thought was a woman, her finger through his belt-loop, following along closely. The young prisoner was dressed in halter top, short pants that exposed part of his butt cheeks, and high heels, which he seemed to have little trouble walking in. His face was soft, and he wore eyeliner and lipstick. He shot me a coy look as he passed the cell.
    I closed my eyes for a moment, thinking about the unfortunate individual I'd just seen. He'd probably been sent up on some bullshit possession charge and, not being rich enough, got sent to the big house for two years. He would have been lucky to just do his two years and get out. They probably turned that kid before he'd been here a week. Poor little bastard.
    My thoughts of pity were abruptly interrupted by the growl of a six-foot-three, two-hundred-thirty-or-so-pound inmate inquiring about my identity.
    "Who the fuck are you?"
    I turned slightly on one shoulder and gave him a hard, cold look. I knew that to answer him quickly would be a sign of weakness.
    "Who the fuck's askin'?" I replied. I was scared, but couldn't let him know it.
    "Look, scumbag, I fu—" He stopped in mid-curse, his eyes widening as he saw the Satan's Saints tattoo on my chest. "Son of a bitch! You're a fuckin' Saint! No shit?"
    "No shit," I said unkindly. I had to concentrate, keep the act going.
    "I thought all you guys were dead. Killed, after