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One for every day I can’t show you with my actions.
I swear I'll never say it again, little one.
M
Max
Four months later
Metal doors scrap through metal tracks, revealing the red dirt yard and hundreds of incarcerated bastards with no one to impress but each other. That's a sad and dangerous fucking reality. The stale heat is thick as I stride through it. Some men glance my way with stiff nods while others cast their eyes low.
Some of them laugh and mock and beat their chests because there is fuck all else to do and it feels good to be noticed. They would never admit it, but it's the lingering feeling of neglect they feel behind these walls that slowly dissolves their person. It's the world of free people so fucking close their presence can be heard - their cars, their horns, their music. It's fucking psychological warfare. These 'badarse' men are reminded every
