The worst day I ever had was spent working on the side of the road with a bush axe in the freezing cold. To make matters worse, a group of spoiled teenage boys rode by on their four-wheelers, splashing my co-workers and me with muddy water. Unfortunately, we could not retaliate because of fear that Joseph Perry, our prison guard, might use his shotgun on us. Those kids thought we looked funny shivering with our bright orange prison uniforms muddied, which probably made those little punks' day, but the humiliation was unbearable for me. I look forward to the day I get out of prison because I can't wait to redefine what I consider a good day. After all, not being approached in the shower is a good day right now.
The first aspect of a good day would be wa
Hopefully, I won't get in trouble, so I can relive this day over and again. Of course, this is how I got in my situation in the first place, but a good day is priceless. Even if the price is prison time. I mean, it's not that bad in prison; I don't have any bills or obligations except for my two cartons of cigarettes to Bubba every week.
king up in the morning to some of mom's thick, flaky buttermilk pancakes with sausage and milk. I could eat as slowly as I want, and I could go back for seconds. Such a breakfast would be unspeakably better than the "crapmeal" and eggs I am used to getting. The oatmeal is full of lumps, and the eggs are runny except for the pieces of shell. For lunch I could get a few dollars and go to McDonalds; I would get a delicious Double Quarterpounder with c
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