His body turned slightly to the left as he twisted its top open and poured a measured serving into a Brushy Creek hot pot that was always placed at the foot of his bunk. He carefully re-capped the bottle and set it back in place. He then plugged in the hot pot, turned it on high, and waited patiently for it to steam.
He changed the television channel from a senseless killing to the roadrunner deceiving Wiley Coyote into blowing himself up. He sensed the infringement deeply while thinking about how his mother always told him about sitting too close to the TV.
“Boy, move back from that TV! It’ll make you go blind.”
He reached back into his locker and got a packet of Nestles chocolate, tore it open and poured it in the empty cup. The crumpled packet rested beside him. Twisting steam hit the formed water on the cell’s ceiling. He reached in his locker again and took out a jar of Folgers coffee and opened it. He could smell its purpose. He dumped a heaping scoop into the cup and then attentively poured in the scorching water. The brew formed. The mocha aroma induced a synergy between his clumsy soul and his dingy darkened cell. As his plastic spoon vigorously stirred the mixture far more than necessary, that clanking sound sang, “I’m ready to start doing time again.”
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