Klempner
The cell is depressing. Not just the naked walls, the furniture bolted to the cement floor, the steel sink and toilet, but everything….
…. The constant daytime echo of footsteps on metal walkways, the murmur of my companions….
…. colleagues…?
…. carrying through from the rest of the floor, Jackson’s constant f*****g snoring at night….
Surely I can get my cellmate changed?
Still, he’ll be gone in a month….
…. And who do I get then?
…. And the smell…. Disinfectant, sour sweat, stale tobacco, cabbage….
My door eases open and the guard stands, not exactly to attention, but respectfully. For appearance’s sake, I stand. “Mr Sutcliffe?”
“Mr Klempner, you have visitors.”
About f*****g time….
“Is it them?”
“Yes, sir. All three of them.”
Well, there’s a first….
So, the men ke
