Jail smells like piss and shit. I know this because I’ve spent a couple of days in jail. One was just a holding cell, but there was feces smeared all over the walls. The other night was real jail. Brooklyn House of Detention. Central Booking. That’s what i remember most about that night. The overwhelming stench of piss and shit. It was freezing, despite being a hot night in late May. The guards pump the air conditioning to control the smell. That’s what they yelled back at one of the “ladies” who told her to “turn up the fucking heat, motherfucker.”
Nobody fucked with me. I think they were a little scared. What was this skinny white girl in good jeans and a hot pink hoodie doing with the likes of them? I heard somebody remark: “She killed somebody.” Nobody whispers about you behind your back in jail. They want a reaction. They wanted me to react.
“Yeah, I fucking killed someone and I’ll kill you too, you fucking cunt if I ever hear you talk about me again.”
I didn’t say that.
I didn’t say anything.
Somebody handed me an apple. I inspected it, rubbed it on the inside of my hoodie and ate it. I threw the core underneath the bench.
A heroin addict wearing house slippers and a threadbare nightgown started licking a crackhead’s clit. Everybody giggled. I did not. I was pissed. They all knew it too.
Most of them eventually slept, but I did not.
The next morning I was arraigned. The Prosecution asked for $50,000 in bail. The judge settled on 10. I left the court room with what seemed like ten million cameras in my face. The police were screaming at the reporters “Let her through! Let her the fuck through!” I was pushed into a car with my attorney. We had a driver drop me off at home.
I stripped and took a long, hot shower. I threw all of those jail clothes in the wash, including my sneakers. After they dried, I folded them and put them away.
I never wore that hot pink hoodie again.