4:30 P.M. I would like a haircut. Off to Atlantic Avenue.
5 P.M. A blond girl places a sticker on a lamppost. I’ve stickers! The wheels of genius begin turning.
5:04 P.M. I, blacker, put a sticker on the identical pole.
5:05 P.M. Officer A chicken-wings my arm. Poorly. I attempt to assist, however the maneuver is past his technical depth. This isn’t any Bret Hart.
5:06 P.M. Officer A says to cease resisting. Officer B stifles laughter.
5:08 P.M. Officer B will get bored and cuffs me himself.
5:15 P.M. Their automotive smells like lifeless canine.
5:22 P.M. We attain the station. It’s nearer to the lamppost than their automotive was.
5:30 P.M. Officer A: “I don’t get these stickers. What do you do?”
Me: “I train at Columbia.”
Officer A: “Stop mendacity.”
5:40 P.M. Onboarding, of types. I plug my e book.
6 P.M. It’s essentially the most various cell I’ve ever seen. American Black, African Black, Caribbean Black, indeterminate Black—the works.
6:01 P.M. The cell smells higher than the automotive.
6:05 P.M. I settle into the entrance left nook. My new residence.
6:15 P.M. Cellmate A flirts with our sister cell. We can’t see them. He’s an optimist.
6:20 P.M. Unseen Woman likes “Norbit.” Cellmate A balks, however perseveres.
6:25 P.M. Cellmate B: “What are you right here for?”
Me: “They stated graffiti.”
Cellmate B: “Was it some dope shit?”
Me: “I hope so.”
6:27 P.M. Unseen Woman strikes on to music. Cellmate A retains making an attempt.
6:30 P.M. I request a telephone name. Officer A doesn’t really feel it.
6:45 P.M. Unseen Woman thinks P. Diddy runs an “Epstein island.” Cellmate A powers by means of. I’ve come to admire him.
7:01 P.M. Cellmate C mutters about area. Probably tremendous.
7:20 P.M. Unseen Woman politely requests launch.
7:30 P.M. Unseen Woman requests launch much less politely.
7:40 P.M. Unseen Woman screams each curse she is aware of and invents 4 new ones. I’ve come to admire her.
7:56 P.M. Cellmate C: “Can I simply get my ticket?”
Officer C: “New mayor, new guidelines.”
Cellmate C: “The legislation modified?”
Officer D: “Er, no. But new mayor, new guidelines.”
8:02 P.M. Cellmate B snorts white powder off the bench. There’s a digicam.
8:11 P.M. Cellmate B slumps. Someone lower a depressant in there.
8:20 P.M. Cellmate B rallies. Cellmate A fakes extra love for “Norbit.” Cellmate C continues speaking to himself. This cell has combating spirit.
8:25 P.M. Cellmate B: “Don’t fear, we’re good niggas. Slightly time right here, a little bit time in reserving, and we’ll be tremendous. No unhealthy niggas in right here. We haven’t damage anybody.”
8:26 P.M. Unseen Woman asks if there’s any coke left.
8:30 P.M. Officer C says I’ll be out in fifteen minutes.
8:45 P.M. Cellmate A: “What are you right here for?”
Cellmate A: “Was it good?”
Me: “They didn’t prefer it.”
9 P.M. Cellmate A departs. I hope he finds love.
9:07 P.M. I request a telephone name. Officer E isn’t into it, both.
9:11 P.M. Cellmate C swears that he by no means meant to seduce his brother’s spouse. He’s right here for shoplifting.
9:30 P.M. I sketch out the autumn semester in my head. I might discuss this, or “Oreo.”
9:41 P.M. I select “Oreo.” Fran Ross deserved extra.
9:42 P.M. It takes all of my life pressure to keep away from making faces on the digicam.
9:48 P.M. I get my telephone name. Time to select somebody.
9:49 P.M. There’s my mother’s retired lawyer, my detective relative, or the protection lawyer I dated. Choices.
9:55 P.M. I make two calls. Voice mail.
10:02 P.M. Officer C repeats her fifteen-minute promise. She’ll be proper sometime.
10:12 P.M. Cellmate B departs. I hope he finds higher coke.
10:20 P.M. Fingerprint time. My future as a cat burglar is ruined.
10:23 P.M. Officer A struggles with Windows 63. I hope it unfreezes earlier than Watergate.
10:26 P.M. Officer A: “Gonna write about this?”
Me: “Probably not.”
10:37 P.M. Cellmate C: “What are you right here for?”
Cellmate C: “How was it?”
10:44 P.M. Cellmate C says he watches “Baki.” We’re finest mates.
10:51 P.M. History’s fifteen longest minutes are over. Time to go.
10:55 P.M. They return my backpack. I plug my e book.
10:58 P.M. I look over my desk ticket. It has a something-stain. Green-brown. Perhaps Officer B’s signature.
11:02 P.M. I go away the pigsty.
11:20 P.M. I beeline to a diner. I would like much less metaphorical bacon.
11:30 P.M. I inhale two plates of coronary heart illness.
11:35 P.M. The remainder of my stickers are gone, together with a pro-wrestling wristband.
11:36 P.M. The wristband’s from Sumo Hall in Tokyo. Almost price turning again.
11:44 P.M. More pork, only for the wordplay.
11:51 P.M. I think about life on the enjoyable aspect of weapons, germs, and metal. It seems to be good. Over right here, the underdog novelty’s worn off.
12 A.M. I nonetheless want a haircut. ♦