Artigo Acesso aberto

Electric Latches

1990; University of Iowa; Volume: 20; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês

10.17077/0021-065x.3901

ISSN

2330-0361

Autores

Steve Fisher,

Tópico(s)

Neural Networks and Applications

Resumo

THINGS TENSED UP MORE THAN USUAL, in the camp, when ru mors of the shakedown were confirmed.In the first place, your stuff wasn't guaranteed to be safe, just because you found a nook to stash it in.Everyone in the joint was thinking of the remote, obscure, nearly sub prison regions of the yard, and there weren't that many spots available: the yard was just a small dirt tundra, level as a municipal airstrip and anybody could get to your shit fairly easy.Secondly, the routine structure of the in stitution got knocked around and jammed inward, to where we live ?this meddling with and confiscation of our possessions ?so there was anticipa tion and complete sensing of the dirty little grub violations about to come down.It made some people ugly, others non-committal.It affected every one in degrees.It became the sole topic on the yard, starting a week before they came through."Big shakedown coming up next week, Holmes." "Ain't it a bitch?" or "Say man, wanna buy a pair of Levi's cheap?" "Shit, they're just gonna steal 'em if I have 'em laying around the house.""You can wear them no problem.""Except they'll be looking at our property receipts.""Alright, then lemme get a smoke offa ya." "Don't have none."But as the customer walked off, without upping one, he felt the eyes of the peddler upon him like a hot coating glaze so he turned around, looked at the guy, yelled "Fuck your goddamn Levi's!" to him to take a bit of the heat off himself.Very quickly another system had been developed by the population, just to accommodate the bullshit.But I can't help thinking that what is supplied to adapt to in our prisons is the same thing, in atti tude, that will aggravate a man's sentence and get him more time before a judge, until the man feels like he's lost in a carnival of mirrors.What I needed, at any rate, was to find a trusty.Or a dry place some where, inside of a building.The problem was that most of the Complex buildings were housing units, "dorms," and I had bulk that couldn't be 140 University of Iowa is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve, and extend access to The Iowa Review www.jstor.org®buried outside.Books, magazines, a few personal papers.I was leaning against my locker, looking at the brown crotch of earth that hardened outside of my window, thinking the library.It could work.It could be a solution.I could pattern my books along the shelves with the others, and pick them up after the police swept through.A dust devil suddenly whirled up from the ravine in the road, and ran toward my window like a powdered, tan skirt.It was large, violent, a twisting spike of cone.I slid my small, glass windowpane along, before it crashed through the screen and showered all over my bed and the rest of the cramped, double cell.I turned away from the locker, stuck my hands in my pockets for some thing to do.Actually, there was a chill in the air.The dorm was pale and stuffy and I stood there, breathing, thinking just who had what type of jacket out of the twenty-five people I was routinely locked down with: Shorty, Flame-out, Pinky, and Spider were all doing time for burglary.Igor and Butter-butt, along with Manther and Blood Bath, had long time for either manslaughters or murder.We had Big Al (#1, white) and Big Al (#2, black), doing old-code time with Tombstone, Rebel, Barbershop, and High Tower for various forms of armed robbery.Both Roily and Hammer had picked up their numbers for boosting.The Torch had arson

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