Boulder County Jail

Shannon’s lit up at night with a

colorful clientele, and a thick-boned

hillbilly, called Sam, standing

sentinel at the door.

When Amazon Judy came

on shift, her admirers swarmed

the bar to ogle her suede

hot pants and halter top.

The band didn’t soundcheck,

and the music boomed while the

sweating crowd danced in front of

the stage.

Balling a ninety-pound jackhammer

and drinking beer with an Oglala

Sioux named Lee was my game.

He had scars from knife fights on

the reservation and a kitten with a

missing eye.

We’d already had too much when,

Lee and I weaved past Sam and mixed

with the crowd. A fight broke out, and

I jumped in.

The police arrested me, along with a

couple of other unlucky b******s. They

took my shoelaces and threw me in the

clink. 

It was Saturday, and I’d go before

the judge on Monday. There were fifty

of us in a common area with cots.

I’d planned on minding my own business.

But there was a scared-looking guy in the

cot next to mine. He asked me to walk with him.

I said, “OK,” I didn’t know why. 

So, we walked a circle around the cots

and the prisoners. His gait was broken.

He grabbed my arm and stumbled. 

“I don’t have long to live,” he said.

I saw blood on his lips. I led him to his cot

and sat him down. 

And then he fell on his side and died.