Just an experiment, of sorts...
Inside the holding tank at a courthouse. The walls are painted an old and filthy yellow, like the color of old newspapers. Across the walls are the scrawled tag-lines of bored and nervous criminals. The scratchy text is largely indecipherable and is so pervasive that one can easily tell every color the room has ever been merely by the exposed underlying layers of paint. Running along the far wall is a cement ledge for the inmates to sit on. In the corner there is a prison standard brushed steel combination sink/toilet.
SHORTY, a short and stocky convict wearing a loose fitting county-issued blue jumpsuit is seated on the toilet, but isn't actually using it. He is conversing with CRACKER, a disheveled looking man with emaciated features wearing dirty street clothes to the left of SHORTY. CRACKER is on his knees in front of the cement ledge, busying himself with some activity that he keeps hidden from view by keeping his back to the audience. It quickly becomes apparent that CRACKER is preparing lines of meth, though how he managed to get the drug into the cell is an utter mystery. Apart from them sits SLASH, who bears a striking resemblance to the guitar player from Guns & Roses by the same name.
CRACKER: (speaking quickly) Man it fucking sucks when you get the shakes and you're just like MAN I need off this shit. But that shit's everywhere, man. Sometimes you go somewhere, anywhere, and just get stuck, you know what I'm sayin?
SHORTY: Yeah man, fuck, that shit'll get ya.
CRACKER: So is... hey, what'd they give ya?
SHORTY: Fuck man, I got a DEAL! I was facing 29-to-Life, but I told that motherfuckin' PD he can't do that shit. I mean I'm only on my second, ya know? I may be stupid, but that's FUCKING stupid. He said he got it brought down to 4 years, so I'm like DAMN! Fuck it, where do I sign? ya know what I mean?
CRACKER: (turning a little to face SHORTY). No shit? Damn, man. (looking around) Say... I got somethin' for ya.
(SHORTY gives a slight tilt of his head to indicate his interest. CRACKER responds with a slight nod, turning his back once again. The exchange is swift, fluid, and skillfully executed. As CRACKER casually looks over his left shoulder, and as he does so he holds out a closed fist towards SHORTY. The latter receives CRACKER'S gift and then folds his arms, resting his elbows on his knees. After a few moments, he lowers his head and examines his present. His arms still folded.)
SHORTY: Is it good?
CRACKER: Well it's street, not that bunk ass motherfuckin shit we used to get up in the Pen.
SHORTY: (laughing) No shit. Well, shit son. Thanks!
SHORTY looks around for a moment, as if looking for something. He calls to SLASH who is seated on the opposite side of the room.
SHORTY: Hey Slash, could you pass me that plastic bag by your feet?
SLASH: (suspicious) Um... sure. Why?
SHORTY: You don't wanna know.
SLASH: Sure, whatever. (puts an empty juice box in the bag for weight and slides it across the room to SHORTY.)
SHORTY: Thanks man. (narrowing his eyes at SLASH, turns to CRACKER) Shit, ya know who this motherfucker reminds me of?
SLASH: (cynical) Slash? (CRACKER laughs)
SHORTY: Yeah, no, I mean... (turning his attention to CRACKER) Say, remember that time we were up in Chino back in 92? Do you remember that crazy motherfucker I celled with up on the west block?
CRACKER: Shit man, I can't fucking remember last week. I don't fuckin' know man...
SHORTY: Sure ya do, he looked a lot like Slash here, 'cept he was a lot bigger. Kinda chunky, had the same hair though.
CRACKER: (reminiscing) Ohhhh, you mean that bugged out fucker you laid out?
SHORTY: Yeah! That's the guy. Alright, get this...
(SHORTY begins telling a story to the other inmates. During the story, CRACKER continues to chop up lines of meth and snort them while SHORTY takes the plastic bag given to him by SLASH and uses it to wrap up the chunk of meth given to him by CRACKER in a neatly tied parcel. He devotes only minimal attention to this activity, which is interesting considering that at one point in his very animated story he sticks the bag up his ass. SLASH, however, is not paying attention to the story in the least - he's more disturbed by SHORTY's activity than entertained by his story.)
SHORTY: So this one time, I just got out of the hole for fucking up some black fool, and I get back to my cell and turns out my cell mate got transferred somewhere, don't care where. So I'm like, "Fuck, this is nice. I can just do my thing" ya know? I mean, it was the two-man cell, not the fucking cramped ass 20 man to a fuckin' dorm bullshit we've got up in County. (various laughs of affirmation ripple across the room) So anyway, the next day the bring in this motherfucker who looks like Slash here (nods at SLASH). This mother was CRAZY. Fuckin' nutjob. I mean all the fucker did was walk all up and down and keep saying "Gotta get out of here. I gotta leave, man." Now, I'm on the bottom bunk trying to get in some readin'. And here I got this motherfucker and he wont fuckin' stop moving.
. . .
SHORTY, a short and stocky convict wearing a loose fitting county-issued blue jumpsuit is seated on the toilet, but isn't actually using it. He is conversing with CRACKER, a disheveled looking man with emaciated features wearing dirty street clothes to the left of SHORTY. CRACKER is on his knees in front of the cement ledge, busying himself with some activity that he keeps hidden from view by keeping his back to the audience. It quickly becomes apparent that CRACKER is preparing lines of meth, though how he managed to get the drug into the cell is an utter mystery. Apart from them sits SLASH, who bears a striking resemblance to the guitar player from Guns & Roses by the same name.
CRACKER: (speaking quickly) Man it fucking sucks when you get the shakes and you're just like MAN I need off this shit. But that shit's everywhere, man. Sometimes you go somewhere, anywhere, and just get stuck, you know what I'm sayin?
SHORTY: Yeah man, fuck, that shit'll get ya.
CRACKER: So is... hey, what'd they give ya?
SHORTY: Fuck man, I got a DEAL! I was facing 29-to-Life, but I told that motherfuckin' PD he can't do that shit. I mean I'm only on my second, ya know? I may be stupid, but that's FUCKING stupid. He said he got it brought down to 4 years, so I'm like DAMN! Fuck it, where do I sign? ya know what I mean?
CRACKER: (turning a little to face SHORTY). No shit? Damn, man. (looking around) Say... I got somethin' for ya.
(SHORTY gives a slight tilt of his head to indicate his interest. CRACKER responds with a slight nod, turning his back once again. The exchange is swift, fluid, and skillfully executed. As CRACKER casually looks over his left shoulder, and as he does so he holds out a closed fist towards SHORTY. The latter receives CRACKER'S gift and then folds his arms, resting his elbows on his knees. After a few moments, he lowers his head and examines his present. His arms still folded.)
SHORTY: Is it good?
CRACKER: Well it's street, not that bunk ass motherfuckin shit we used to get up in the Pen.
SHORTY: (laughing) No shit. Well, shit son. Thanks!
SHORTY looks around for a moment, as if looking for something. He calls to SLASH who is seated on the opposite side of the room.
SHORTY: Hey Slash, could you pass me that plastic bag by your feet?
SLASH: (suspicious) Um... sure. Why?
SHORTY: You don't wanna know.
SLASH: Sure, whatever. (puts an empty juice box in the bag for weight and slides it across the room to SHORTY.)
SHORTY: Thanks man. (narrowing his eyes at SLASH, turns to CRACKER) Shit, ya know who this motherfucker reminds me of?
SLASH: (cynical) Slash? (CRACKER laughs)
SHORTY: Yeah, no, I mean... (turning his attention to CRACKER) Say, remember that time we were up in Chino back in 92? Do you remember that crazy motherfucker I celled with up on the west block?
CRACKER: Shit man, I can't fucking remember last week. I don't fuckin' know man...
SHORTY: Sure ya do, he looked a lot like Slash here, 'cept he was a lot bigger. Kinda chunky, had the same hair though.
CRACKER: (reminiscing) Ohhhh, you mean that bugged out fucker you laid out?
SHORTY: Yeah! That's the guy. Alright, get this...
(SHORTY begins telling a story to the other inmates. During the story, CRACKER continues to chop up lines of meth and snort them while SHORTY takes the plastic bag given to him by SLASH and uses it to wrap up the chunk of meth given to him by CRACKER in a neatly tied parcel. He devotes only minimal attention to this activity, which is interesting considering that at one point in his very animated story he sticks the bag up his ass. SLASH, however, is not paying attention to the story in the least - he's more disturbed by SHORTY's activity than entertained by his story.)
SHORTY: So this one time, I just got out of the hole for fucking up some black fool, and I get back to my cell and turns out my cell mate got transferred somewhere, don't care where. So I'm like, "Fuck, this is nice. I can just do my thing" ya know? I mean, it was the two-man cell, not the fucking cramped ass 20 man to a fuckin' dorm bullshit we've got up in County. (various laughs of affirmation ripple across the room) So anyway, the next day the bring in this motherfucker who looks like Slash here (nods at SLASH). This mother was CRAZY. Fuckin' nutjob. I mean all the fucker did was walk all up and down and keep saying "Gotta get out of here. I gotta leave, man." Now, I'm on the bottom bunk trying to get in some readin'. And here I got this motherfucker and he wont fuckin' stop moving.
. . .