Every morning when I awaken in my 8-by-10-foot cell, I peer out my small window and thank the Universe for such a view. It’s not much, mostly razor wire and uniform-clad convicts. I’ve found that during trying times like these, the simplest things matter the most. Sure, you’re trapped inside your home or apartment, but all’s not lost.
You also have your own bathroom and kitchen, which, I hope, given your access to the world of commercial sanitizing products, are corona free. I have none of these spaces. I share a bathroom with 96 other convicts. In my cell I have a narrow, lumpy mattress and a middle school-sized desk that I cram myself into while writing, as I am now as I type this.
I’d give anything to trade places with you right now. And when I say anything, I mean anything. If I owned a billion dollars I’d offer it over to you. A hundred billion. A trillion. That’s because I’m scared to death. I may die all alone in prison without any of my loved ones around to comfort me and send me off. I don’t want the last faces I see to be those of the two cruel prison guards assigned to watch over me while I slip away.
And I did deserve to come to prison. But I do not deserve a lonely death because of it. Neither do you.
Nee, zelfisolatie of quarantaine is niet net als in een gevangenis zitten, aldus Jerry Metcalf die een gevangenisstraf van 40 tot 60 jaar uitzit in de Thumb Correctional Facility in Michigan, V.S.