(4/13) “The first place they took me was MCC in New York. Same...

(4/13) “The first place they took me was MCC in New York. Same floor Epstein killed himself. When they closed the door of that cell, I remember looking at the graffiti all over the walls. Grime everywhere. Hair on the floor a quarter inch deep. And sitting in the middle of the floor was two sheets and a blanket. I didn’t have the meth anymore. It was just me, those sheets, and that mess. I spent all my time imagining what it would be like to die in prison. Every little cold, every little stomachache, I thought: This is it. And what kind of death would that be? Everyone wants to die with dignity. But there was no dignity here. I didn’t tell a soul about my diagnosis. Show vulnerability, in this place? I’m no dummy. But the guards knew, because they had a list with a code next to my name. They kept making little innuendos. Fucking infuriating. I didn’t even talk about my diagnosis with the phlebotomist who checked my blood. But one day we’re in there alone, and I finally got the courage to ask him: ‘What do you think? Will I make it out of here alive?’ I’ll never forget him; his name was Alex. He said: ‘With the new drugs now, you’ll live longer than the rest of these clowns.’ It was my first glimpse of hope in six years, but it came too late. When you’re in prison: you might as well be dead. You’re in a coma. You’re not making new memories. You wouldn’t even know time was passing if it wasn’t for the 13th of every month, when your phone minutes reset. My first call was always to my mother. It was an ebb and flow. Most days she was upbeat. Other days it was: ‘Why? Why? Why?’ But she never left my side. Sent me a letter every week. Visited whenever she could. My father never came to see me, but I didn’t take it personal. He didn’t come to my baseball games either. Sometimes my Mom would hand him the phone, and he’d say: ‘I’m not giving up on you.’ That was it; it’s just who he was. He was an old school onion farmer. If you wanted to get a beer after work, and stare at the Eagles game on TV, he’d be there. But ‘I love you?’ Nah, none of that. That was Mom. Supposedly he changed after I went to prison, and I’m happy for that. I really am. But I never got to see it.”