Where I'm bound to the ground by the loneliest sound
And it pounds from within and is pinning me down.

Here is a page from the emptiest stage
A cage or the heaviest cross ever made
A gauge of the deadliest trap ever laid.

Depeche Mode, "Home"
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Fucking Wayne. He sleeps all night with radio on. And this morning, while James was in 224 taking a shower, he drowned out the noise of running water by turning up his radio. Chainsaw Gnome Motherfucker. In two weeks, both my bunkies will be out of here. I'm ready for a change of scenery, even if it means new roommates. But I officially am over the hump, with fewer days to go than the number of days I've spent. Some might say that this will be a difficult part of the year, because of the holidays. I contend that when you have major calendar landmarks, it actually makes time go much faster than, say, late August or September when there's nothing to look forward to chronologically.

Not only have a lot of people been getting rolled up lately, but also a lot of people I know are finally being released. I mean, it has been eighty days. See how epic it sounds when I write it out? Seeing the same people, especially watching sports or going to AA meetings, causes you to be friends sort-of by default. I mean, there really isn't a whole lot in common. I certainly don't plan on moving back to my double-wide when I get out of here. I don't have to worry about child support. But it's a camaraderie that comes from going through the same experience.

My bus came half-an-hour late last night, and I was worried that I would get written up (and subsequently, as punishment, have to do work release) for being late in arriving back at the facility. It was 5:50pm by the time the bus was in Newbury Park, so I was expecting the worst kind of traffic going down The Grade into Camarillo. But by virtue of some miracle, traffic opened up. While still on the bus, I get ready as much as I can, putting on my gloves and beanie, preparing to offload my bike and zoom. As soon that bus dropped me off in Las Posas, I was off to the races. I put my 21-speed bike on its highest, fastest gear. Imagine that I had it set to "rabbit" and not "turtle". I pedaled as hard as I could, parked my bike (not even bothering to lock it up) and ran to the front door. They buzz me in, arriving within 1 minute of being late. I throw up my hands to signal a touchdown. Arriving in Furlough riding that wave of adrenaline, sadly, was the highlight of my day. Officer Vazquez responds, "Take off that beanie."