By Joshua Ryan
Chapter 14: Your Every Moment Will Be Filled with Meaning
When you’re a freshman slappie you wake up at dawn, and if you’re a new and potentially uncontrolled slappie, you lie in your rack until the boss comes by to unlock your shackle. Then you herd into the latrine to do your business. The smell of piss and shit from 100 slappies—that wasn’t one of the attractions of the King George Hotel. The hotel had slappies, but they did it someplace else. Mornings are chilly on St. Bevons, and the steam goes up from the shit holes. You march to the chow hall in your big boots and your little slappie suit, and you feel like the cold breeze is drowning you. Chow is something like oatmeal and something like coffee. No croissants. No marmalade. No fresh fruits offered for your selection. No one to suggest that the gentleman might wish to try the special breakfast of the day. Then you’re marched out on the slab for exercise. You strip down to your y-fronts, and you’re ready for your session of mens nulla in corpore sano.
