My new bunk mate is ethnically indigenous Hawaiian Islander. He was born and raised in Maine. He is covered in tattoos that look like the state of Texas and statements like, "Southern Pride". These thoughtful ink proclamations are crowded by swastikas and "ss" bolts. He redefines multiculturalism.
He also smells bad and is just a bit smarter than a cold brisket. Owing to his Pacific Island heritage, he is huge, so I keep my clever judgments to myself.
I was visited by my probation officer and received what some might call some staggeringly bad news (by "some" I mean "I"): it seems that on 9/3 when I went to court it was made clear to my now deceased lawyer that I would not be allowed to leave until everything was worked out in Harris County.
On some level, I already knew that, and had been begging him to use the game of "keep away" to work out a deal in Harris county to grease the skids. That did not happen. That's the good news. The bad news is that nothing happened at all so I have essentially been sitting here for about 110 days for no reason.
So I got that goin' for me. which is nice.
I recognize that every day I sit is a day closer to going home. Allegedly. This is true only in the most chronological of ways. The reality is that the sooner everything gets worked out, the sooner I will go home.
In the meantime, I will avoid my Nazi Hawaiian bunk mate and his strangely stained under garments that make me throw up, just a little.
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