To the Super Max 

A prison diary

Wednesday, Nov 21 2001

Page 5 of 5



Two weeks late. Called for release, sitting in the tank with other dudes, waiting, hoping.

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You bet I'm ready for Warm Springs or Cold Springs or fucking watch springs -- any kind of springs. My paperwork is lost. I'm sweating.

The last guy called is me. I step outside and breathe that L.A. smog, bum a smoke and light it. Wow. Good stuff. Tobacco. I get in the van for Warm Springs, where they have real fucking eggs. Sounds like heaven to me.

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