Word: zac
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...cellmates had developed an acute sense of time; at an apparently random point, Dennis announced "lunch time". Shortly thereafter an orderly arrived bearing a bucket. The scene that followed was almost Dickensian; prisoners came to life all around, clamouring at the bars, thrusting out their food pots for lunch. Zac and I had no pots, but Blacka and Paul shared their food with us. Four years of boarding school food had not prepared me for the tepid stew of rotten meat and boiled yams that emerged from the bucket. We were given a large mug of warm, brown water...
...would be till we went to trial. "I dunno. A day, six months...". I saw Harvard disappearing over the horizon; my plane was due to leave the following week. The day passed. We tore up a newspaper and made some cards (I still have them). Dennis cheated at poker. Zac and I began to devise schemes for release. We agreed that if one of us feigned illness, he could get a message out with the doctor. That night, we saw something that chased all such plans from our minds...
...good sense of the time of day), the guard opened the door. He grunted and beckoned towards the stairs. I did not want to ask questions; blind compliance seemed the best way to avoid further injury. As we left the cell, Dennis pressed something into Zac's hand...
...stairs, my right hand was handcuffed to Zac's left and we were led into the sunlight. For a moment I was blinded and unable to move. The sun had never felt so clean on my grimy skin. A policeman pushed us into a Land Rover with the barrel of his carbine. We were going to court...
Back at the station, our handcuffs were removed. We never got our watches and belts back; we were too scared to ask. We ran to the beach, swimming far out, trying to shed our skins and memories. As we dried off afterwards, Zac fished a sodden piece of paper from his shoe. On it was a Kingston phone number...