One Percent

There was a new guy in my painting class tonight. He is an architect by day. He asked me who these people were that I was painting and I said that they were from the CrimeStoppers page in the paper. He seemed really surprised but he smiled and said, “They have some attitude”.

The other day I read that one out every one hundred US citizens are in prison. I know at least a hundred people and I know someone who did time for printing twenties in his basement. And my brother did some time for weed but I don’t know anyone behind bars. I know my friend, Frank Paolo, visits a woman in prison.

I guess these crime faces are really pretty mainstream. I plan to to move on to some new subject manner as as soon as I can nail this “attitude” thing.


4 Replies to “One Percent”

  1. i dont know if i know a hundred ppl, but one of my exes was in prison for awhile. dont ask.

  2. Prison is one of the saddest places on earth. Visiting day is
    particularly depressing. Young kids playing games and coloring
    with Mommy – who sits in a designated seat – and tries to cram a
    whole, loving relationship into a 3-hour visit.

    Most of the faces are Black or Hispanic and virtually all wear the
    face of poverty. Over three-quarters of the state’s guests are
    there for crimes related to drugs. Stupid drugs – which should be
    legalized anyway. Drugs that just about every person reading
    these words has done – but was lucky enough not to get stuck
    there. Perhaps we had a few more choices. Most of us could
    get high without robbing someone or burglarizing their homes.

    And the worst part of being incarcerated is the power structure
    under which prisoners live. The vast majority of Correction
    Officers just do their jobs. They’re average Joe’s who go
    home to their families at the end of the day – pretty much like
    everyone else – and look forward to their days off.

    But a small percentage are power pricks. Nitwits who’s greatest
    accomplishment in life was to pass a lousy civil service exam.
    These are dolts – both women and men -who could never be
    real police officers – but they still crave the control officially given
    to them by a uniform, a club, and a can of Mace.

    It all slapped me in the face a few weeks ago. Passing through
    the prison security process on my way to visit my friend- before
    the two metal detectors – the guard said to me:

    “You can’t wear two shirts inside. You’ve got to take one off.”

    I was wearing a black pull over t-shirt and a rather nice (it was a
    gift) black suede open, shirt-sweater. Actually it was the same
    outfit I had worn two weeks before. This week it wasn’t “allowed”
    because the guard said it wasn’t. I wanted to laugh in the asshole’s

    “C’mon. Take one of the shirts off and put it in the locker. That’s
    the rule. Let’s go.”

    I looked at this dumb piece of shit and knew in ANY OTHER
    “police” situation, I would say, “Don’t speak to me like that. I’d
    like to see your Captain, NOW!” or “If I’m under arrest, respectfully,
    I’d like to call my lawyer and I won’t say one more word until he’s
    here. And if I’m NOT under arrest, you cannot legally detain me.
    I’m leaving.”

    But this was prison – and the uniformed dumb hick – with a room
    temperature IQ – could either allow me in – or deny my visit. And
    if I created any problems, I’m sure he’d get even by giving shit to
    my friend.

    I took off the T-shirt and was allowed in. As I walked
    passed him, I took special notice of his name tag. And
    I assume he lives close to Albion.

    I’m an old Guinea. When my friend gets out, I may just
    pay a visit to this C.O. bully There are a few things I’d
    like to discuss.

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