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Pink Socks

The first thing one notices is the chair. Comprised entirely of straight lines with minimal upholstery, it’s a chair designed for utility rather than comfort. On the seat is a device like a small heating pad on which I’m asked to sit and, in the polygrapher’s words, "take it easy," though neither of us believes…

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About Five to Twenty

In 2011 the author was sentenced to twelve years in federal prison for downloading child pornography. He was released in 2021 and now resides in Texas. For more than a decade he has written extensively about his experiences as a defendant, prisoner, and as an ex-felon and registered sex offender reentering society.

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The Problem List

Clark smiled broadly, which was unusual for Clark. Prone to anxiety and depression, he often sat through our weekly sex offender treatment sessions wearing an exhausted, dour expression, as though his life were coming to an end and he’d sooner sleep through the last dreadful bits. But today he smiled—it was a rather handsome smile—and…

Edgar

A flicker in the bottom corner of my eye, too quick to identify but slow enough to determine speed and direction. It’s source: the dried goods shelf where oyster and hoisin sauce cans are stacked in rows; it’s destination: the small, irregular hole at the baseboard behind the stove. Unperturbed, I continued sliding blocks of…

Homecoming

My neighbor died the day I moved into my apartment. This I learned from another neighbor, Dillan, who lives three doors down. She’d went by Charlie, he said, and added that she’d been very old, nearly ninety, and in poor health. She’d had a cat. This I learned not from Dillan but surmised myself from…

Essays from Prison

Elijah

I noticed him at the Christian table, a young black man with a linebacker’s body and the face of a cherub. He wore a kippah atop his smooth head. He said "What’s up?" and I said "How are you?" and then we each went back to our lunches, me to my cheeseburger and he to…

Grits

The commissary line is always longest on Monday mornings. An empty locker makes an inmate anxious, and he will queue up at 7:30, skipping breakfast, to replenish the sodas and candies and chicharrones he scoffed over the weekend. The line this morning is especially long—it extends around the north-eastern perimeter of the compound, past safety,…

Love Letter

Hello, My Love Layin here trap in fantasy thinking about what I’ll be doing to that ass if you was my cellie. I were waiting on you tonite to come visit but I guess you got held up writing is what it look like when I snuck a peek before I came in. Can we…