>>3179820The rest of the morning was yard time, where I walked the yard with my meanest fucking dead-eyed stare. I actually have a great mean face and people, black, white, mexican, would nod at me and say "What up, G?" and "What's cracken', Homie?"
I nod back and keep on trucking, not getting slowed down into conversation. Walk the yard and notice rocks and sticks all over the yard. Wonder why the fuck anyone gets caught with shanks when you could simply fashion a crude wooden shank or carry a heavy rock.
Then, back to the bays until lunch. While waiting, "fucking hack bitch" comes into the bay and calls my name. My stomach drops through the floor. I start sweating and shaking. I sit up, heart pounding. I say nothing. "_________, where the fuck are you?" the 'hack bitch' calls out angrily. I look around, everyone is staring at me. I look at the guard. He stares down the row at me and says "______, Transport! Get your ass in gear!"
I wait. transport? Where the fuck am I going? I just got here? This must be a mistake. I say nothing. One of the guys on the bunk next to mine says "Court time, homie. Better get steppin'."
I get up, knees buckle a bit but I catch myself, turns into a sort of swaggering one-two step as I walk along slowly. "Homie strollin', look at that white boy walk." They are impressed that I am apparently doing some sort of jive step, unintentionally.
The guard is not impressed "Stop clowning around, get your ass over here!" and other inmates laugh and smile. I laugh and jog up. "Sir!"
"Court time, convict! Gonna go see the judge!"
"Again? I say? What about lunch?" The whole bay breaks out in riotous laughter. Calls of "Later G!" and "Be real, homie!" follow me out.