Darling

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He lay in the dimly lit prison cell. The only light was the red hue of the street lamp streaming in through the bars in the window. He couldn’t sleep, but the problem wasn’t the bed. He was used to sleeping on prison bunks by now, and the mattress wasn’t bad. The problem was his cell mate in the top bunk.

They had brought the guy in two days ago, and it was obvious from his eyes that he’d been medicated. “Hell,” he said to the guards. “Take him to the hospital. He shouldn’t be here in that condition.”

The guy coughed and wheezed for a minute before his breathing slowed down.

Last night the guard asked him if the upper-bunk guy had taken his medication. What the hell did they think he was, a damn nurse? If the guard was so worried about it, he should watch the guy himself. Or take him to the hospital. The guard snorted and disappeared.

Unlike his cell mate who lay in bed all day, he’d at least kept himself busy in the license plate shop.

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