“I guess this means I’m family,” I said, after Eva handed me the near-empty chocolate ice cream container and a spoon.
Jerry’s the only other person I’ve seen eating the remains of an ice cream batch out of that container. I felt honored, and Eva wasn’t even going to charge me.
Eva claimed there wasn’t enough ice cream left to fill a single order, but I’m not so sure of that. It seemed like a regular double-order to me, except this time I had to pay attention and not get chocolate on my forearm (brown knuckles were unavoidable).
I like to think of myself as being so damned free and independent, but the truth is my heart is chained to the Shack. I rely on my daily visit there in the same way a prisoner in solitary confinement must rely on his one-hour shackled release to the exercise yard.
There’s a parallel there, but no comparability. My own solitude is so much pleasanter than a prisoner’s.
I’ve been hearing about the anguish being suffered by 15-year-old Colt Lundy now that he is in 23-hour-a-day solitary confinement at Wabash Valley Correctional Facility. The boy’s torture and mental deterioration have been like uninvited shade-like visitors at the door. I wish they would go away and leave me in peace.
The other night, Colt was so distraught that the only way he could be silenced is the prison authorities shot him up with drugs. These shades are menacing and they will not leave me alone.
I wish I could send the kid some of Eva’s “Love Shack” ice cream. Colt needs a shot or two of love each day, not a solution from a syringe.
I wish the shades would go to Judge Reed’s door instead.
Groove of the Day