I was putting a sheet around the lower mattress when I felt the presence of someone who had come up from behind me. From the corner of my eye I observed a Latino dude, bare chested with numerous tattoos, and a shaved head standing next to the lockers. Without looking up at him, I noticed he had something in his hand.
“Hey bro… wipe that mattress off before you roll out. You don’t want no bullshit. Staph is really bad here, brother.” The inmate took a step closer and handed me a plastic spray bottle.
“Oh yeah, thanks a lot,” I said, feeling ignorant.
“That shit kills anything, spray it on a fuckin’ cockroach… and the motherfucker will flip on his fuckin’ back and go to sleep,” he said with a heavy ghetto Hispanic accent.
“There are towels in the locker, inside the shitter, bro,” and the inmate walked away.
“You got it, man. Where is the shitter?” I called after him.
“I got it bro… whaz yur name?” he yelled back.
“Mike!” I hollered, then felt embarrassed for raising my voice.
“Okay, Mikey… pull that fuckin’ mattress off your rack,” he shouted a distance farther down the dorm, then disappeared into a room off to the right.
Excerpt from my book: Pay To Play http://www.paytoplaythebook.com