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1½ Minutes Out Of My 2nd 48 Hours At Camp ACRJ

Outfitted in a decorous dark-colored uniform rather than the frequently-seen gray Polo shirt and true-navy-blue slacks the guards wear, he pokes his head in my cell. “You request the Chaplain?”

Why -- do I look like I need my last rites? Oh. Wait. That’s a Catholic Priest, not a jail Chaplain. I smile broadly and tell the Correctional Officer “no.”

“What are you reading?” he asks, a glint of amusement in his eye.

In response, I flip up the large paperback in my hands which I’d dug out of the limited-selection book box from Intake.

“That’s a ‘girl book’’” he wrinkles up his nose and wisecracks; I laugh out loud.