I first heard the whaling as I lay my bunk, and I growled as the bawling cut across my

dreams. This was my third night in the box, and I was getting tired of being woken up

by the loud crying from somewhere in the quad. The innmate spent his days enormous

object silence, no one stopping at his cell with mail or call out. I never saw them come

out for showers, and I don't even think I'd see them get a trade during meals. All

they really did was cry at night, and keep the whole block awake. I huffed out a long

suffering breath and rolled on my bunk. My cellmate, an odd guy named Tobs, looked over

the edge at me and shrugged. He reached up to his ears and pulled out a pair of earplugs

that he made from toilet paper, and held them out to me. I just shook my head, knowing

they wouldn't block out the crying. After getting zero sleep in the first night, I tried

talking to the man, and finally gave it up. It seemed that the crying couldn't be blocked

out by normal means, and my brain simply couldn't be tired enough to block it out completely.

It helps a little. Tobs lied. But he smiled as he said it. The light from outside, making

his grin look ghastly. What is problem anyway? What's he got to be so upset about? I asked

grumpy. That wiped the smile of Tobs's face, and I saw him roll away and face the wall.

It's best not to think about it. He's just getting by in his own way. That seemed

to be all Tobs would say in the matter. I'd been a guest of Straguey Prison for about

three years now, but this was my first trip to the box. They had caught me in a shake

down a few weeks ago, and some Jack has to decide to hide their drugs under my bunk. The

guards hadn't wanted to hear about how it wasn't mine. Possession was 9-10 to the

law, and I was processed and whisked after confinement. Three days later, I was exhausted

and ready to snap. I rolled over and tried to block out the crying and get back to sleep.

...