I spent Saturday volunteering for groundskeeping duty at the reserve sheriff's academy. New cadets were wearing white T-shirts with their last names emblazoned on them like dorks. They were doing calisthenics and other exercises outside while some fellows from furlough, including me, were busy mowing the lawn, edging the track, raking debris, and pulling weeds. It struck me as ironic that I haven't actually done any of these chores on my lawn in a long-ass time. I would stare at them sometimes, even as they were eating lunch while I sauntered by with my rusty wheelbarrow. My time here is finite.

In the afternoon, my room had chow hall duty, so I was in the back of the house again, scrubbing pans and trays and ladles. A bird managed to fly into the facility. In its frightened state, it flew full speed into the large window panes. Impressively, one of the female inmates (being a chow hall janitor is one of the few times when the two genders can "interact") managed to pick up the bird and take it outside.