By Joshua Ryan
No one wants to read a complete account of my daily life. I’ll hit a few of the high points on the tour.
Food: Early morning, noon, late afternoon — you go to the Chow Hall, which is that huge concrete thing on the Yard that looks like a feature of some winter Olympics. You sit on a steel stool attached to a long steel table, squeezed into your seat together with miles of other men with numbers on their backs. The food is substantial: mes compliments au chef. It’s also cheap, greasy, and ugly. First time I went to the chow hall, Finn showed me how to line up and get my grub. I sat with him at a table and he told the other convicts, “Here’s my new bunkie, Ven.” “Ven” for “Steven.” All right, I was Ven.
