Jail Cell

Besides the fact that I killed somebody and smoke my fair share of weed, I really don’t deserve to be in jail on a Saturday night. It was an accident after all. I hadn’t meant to kill him; I only bashed him in the head multiple times with a frying pan. Granted I thought he was sent to kill me by the CIA, but really it wasn’t my fault.  I got the frying pan idea from a terrible daytime T.V show I used to watch on Mondays and of course in the show the guy lives. I figured I’d knock him unconscious and interrogate him later. But for some reason my guy died. I think it was just his lack of will to live. Again, not my fault.

Anyways, I wasn’t quite sure what to do so naturally I called the police. I ended up self-incriminating myself, which is stupid because honestly I was just trying to explain to them what happened. The police need to work on their listening and comprehension skills.

So now here I am chilling in a jail cell with criminals. All I can think is how I don’t belong here. Well, that and I really want a hot fudge sundae.  This shit sucks.

My surroundings start to sink in and I realize not only does my ass hurt right now on this cold metal bench but this dude next to me can’t stop picking his nose. Apparently once you’re in jail it’s a free for all, mad man, no civilized behavior having lifestyle.  Seeing booger-man right next to me propels me to finally do a full look around the cell.

Spotted across from me is this mammoth of man that I’m positive is the source of a sour smell that is ever present in this tiny enclosure. I can see the beads of sweat falling from his forehead all the way down his cheek. His breathing is heavy, most likely because of the fact that he’s immensely overweight, and every 25-30 seconds he wipes his forehead only for a new wave of sweat to appear.

Next to him is a scrawny little guy that I can tell heroin has already claimed. He twitches like there’s a fly in his ear and won’t stop humming the theme song to Friends. The positioning of the two next to each other is almost comical. I feel like setting up a tube between them to transfer mammoth man’s excess body fat to the poor guy next to him. It would be like watching two balloons, one getting inflated while the other deflates.

Finally my eyes wander over to the corner where I find the last guy in the jail cell. He sits very still with his hands crossed over his lap and his gaze focused straight at the wall. Although he does not look particularly friendly right now, I feel like he would be if he wasn’t in jail.  I’m imagining him making banana bread. He seems like that kind of neighbor.

After examining my fellow cell mates I come to the conclusion that I win the contest for who will get out first. It’s actually a toss-up between me and the friendly neighbor, but who stares at a wall like that? Thus, I conclude that I get the solid win.

I start thinking about how I have to explain to them my story. The CIA has been tracking me since birth. They know that aliens have contacted me before and I know how their mission is to destroy any evidence of foreign life. I am the evidence. Once I tell them they will understand. I should be out of here by tomorrow morning. Yes, tomorrow morning I’ll be out.