Sure you’ll fight. Sure. What a laugh. Take a look at yourself. Already you’re shaking. Already you know what this place reminds you of. Two days in that cramped cell and you’ll be pissing down your pant legs. “You’ve got to understand I can’t stay in there.” He could not stop himself. “The wet. I can’t stand being closed in where it’s wet.” The hole, he was thinking, his scalp alive. The bamboo grate over the top. Water seeping through the dirt, the walls crumbling, the inches of slimy muck he had to try sleeping on.
