By Johnny Utah
Based on a suggestion by MetalbondNYC
Sgt Stiles drove me off into the Florida Panhandle pine forests. I don’t know if we drove for five minutes or fifty. I must have nodded off a few times. Sgt Stiles didn’t say a word to me. I guess I was either too tired from working all day or I was unconsciously following his advice to keep my mouth shut. I was stuck, handcuffed in the back of the van. From time to time I’d get distracted by the back of Sgt. Stiles head. His high and tight haircut was so hot, so masculine.
We got to the camp as it was just starting to get dark. Not much to see. A clearing in the forest out in the middle of nowhere. The camp was eight canvas tents, and some plywood shacks surrounded by rows of barbed wire. The kind you see on the top of fences at prisons. There were a few poles with lights and one gate.
A guard opened the gate. We drove in and Sgt. Stiles pulled up to one of the plywood shacks. He shut off the engine, got out and came over and opened the side door. “Get out, prisoner,” he said. I got out and tried to stretch my arms. I was still handcuffed behind my back. “Go wait at the door for me, face the building, keep quiet,” Sgt Stiles said. I did what he said.
