Joliet

Though the sun may hang listlessly over the horizon all day, when it finally goes down, it ignites the land in a gold and purple blaze. The highway melts to onyx and the cars sparkle like embedded jewels. Buildings are no longer buildings, but Egyptian tombs cowering before Rah. Even the old prison –an enormous block of stone surrounded by other, smaller blocks- is basked in the holy enormity of an ancient temple. Doubtless none of its inmates could ever see it in this light, even as a free man looking on from the outside. To them it can never be more than the pile of bricks that keeps them locked away. To the citizens of the surrounding town, too, “Joliet” means “prison”. One cannot be thought of without the other. The squat fortress sits amidst the jumble of houses, and the driver can do no better of a job at viewing them apart; almost as if the concentric rows of peaked roofs are simply extra layers of the prison’s walls.

The driver thinks of the hitchhiker inside, even though this is not the prison in which he served his time. He wears his favorite denim pairing: jacket and jeans. This one is printed with a long chain of numbers. The driver sees him sucking down cigarette after cigarette, steadily going through the carton stashes under his mattress. Every now and then he will scratch another mark on the wall; another day closer to his release. And once he’s out…

At a stoplight, the driver’s eye is drawn to a corner of white paper, sticking out from beneath the passenger seat. It’s an envelope with a name scratched on it: “P-A-U…” He doesn’t have to string the last two letters on before a flash of rage races through him, leaving his insides cold and shivering.

The driver picks up the paper and folded within it is another piece of paper. He pulls it out. Both sides are covered in rows of pen markings.

You dispicabill bitch-

You laffed wen I sed I wud come for you. You smiled as you put me away from the witness stand. And yur father- that peese of shit Polak. Hes’ the one that turned you agaynst me. Who wuda thot you was pea-brayned to go along with that sick sonnofa…

…staynding up for a louzy Been Eeter, eniway. You both deserve wat you get…