Jail Life by Neal Andrews

There I was in a concrete room with twenty other guys in a room designed for eight. There was one television that I never could hear clearly in the concrete cage also known as the dayroom. The walls had a dirty yellow tint from years of smoking even though the rulers of these concrete enclosures haven't allowed cigarettes in six years. The tables and stools were made of steel bolted to the floor and painted a dark yellow. There were two phones (calls had to be made collect for a price of $4.25 for 15 minutes) that seemed to work when I didn't need them and didn't when I did. The showers we…