It’s still a choice.

Lunch was over quickly, the food was subpar, and the company was worse.

“So the spics are only violent if you cross them, while the nazi fucks will cause trouble with all of the other gangs. Honestly, the mellowest would probably be the blacks but, heh, I don’t think you’d make the cut Mongo.”

“You don’t say. Whistler I think you might just be the most observant man in here.”

Whistler’s mood soured immediately. “You mocking me Mongo?”

Damien turned to look at him and quickly read the situation. “No Whistler, harmless joke is all. You’re as close to a friend as I got in here, I wouldn’t mock you like that.”

The sun came out. “Right you are Mongo! Stick with me and you’ll make it long enough to maybe grow a few grey hairs!”

“One can only hope.”

“Yes sir. I know the .... .... ...”, whistler kept talking for the a while, his seemingly endless optimism only placing more emphasis on the dark personality that peeked its nose out when he thought Damien was mocking him.

Damien decided he needed to know what Whistler was in for. He also needed to find the locked up members of his gang. Any gang that can call itself a gang, or a mob, or a squad, whatever, can’t rightly call themselves a criminal enterprise unless they had men on the inside. Damien’s group was no different.

“Shower time!” Whistler moved his large body off the bed. Damien wasn’t sure if or when he had stopped talking. He only knew hours had passed. Damien followed Whistler and a select number of other inmates to the showers.

Damien idly wondered if he should worry about dropping the soap.