In prison, the forecast is always rainclouds and thunderstorms, ominous and gray like the cinderblock walls around you. No matter how dark things have gotten, the people who’ve been there longer can offer hair-raising tales of even darker possibilities that lie ahead. Those things don’t always come to pass, but the worst seems to happen just often enough to justify a never-ending cascade of anxiety: If you are in jail, you can go to prison. If you are in prison, you can go to The Place. If you’re in The Place, they can take away your water.
