Gravity Day 5

Greg woke up freezing. Facedown on a cement floor. His ears were resonating with the intensity of a freight train horn at an intersection. His was head pounding with the consistency of a rhythmic tropical island bongo group at a vacation resort. Shaking and consistent, banging and pouring, loud and at times unbearable. Every single voice, every signal yell, every single clanking of a door shook Greg's core. If hell was real he was as close as he had ever felt to it.  Jail was something he never expected to experience. Furthermore he had never emotionally prepared himself or walked through it in his mind.

Most people in this situation would immediately begin probing for a way to get out. Many would be yelling at the jailer for answers. Not Greg. Greg had no idea when he ended up here, how he ended up here, who he was with or where he was when it happened. Or what "it" even was? And this burdened him. It wasn't who he was, it wasn't something he ever thought he would fall far enough to endure. Was it drunk driving? The last thing he remembered was drinking at Carl's and talking to the bar tender. Did he fall asleep and get arrested for public intoxication? His head hurt. Was it the alcohol or did he get into an altercation? Was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or had he indeed committed a crime of some kind. There was obviously no mirrors or glass inside the cell to check a reflection so Greg in his curiosity asked one of the cell mates if he had any bruises or cuts on his face. The tall muscle bound man shook his head and muttered "No sir." Greg was confused with being called sir by a man obviously more physically powerful and mean looking than him. This man had obviously taken a different path than Greg in life. He was an easy 6'5" man, heavily covered in tattoos, wearing shorts and a tank top. He reminded Greg of the main character in The Green Mile. John Coffey. He could at anytime easily over power one guard, maybe two if he so chose. Why would he speak to Greg as if he was a military leader or elected official. Greg may have been wearing a tailored suit and hand made shoes, but he still woke up on a cement floor just like everyone else in that cell. And in jail, in prison there are is no class or social status. There are gangs, but there is no class, it's like the game of monopoly, you all start on an equal playing field with the same amount of money. And you all get the same property-no property but the cell you are in. You learn quickly that you have to butter up to the right people and you have to butter up fast. It's not a lot different than real life. It's all about who you know. Maybe the people in jail weren't really that different than Greg after all. But Greg didn't care about socio-class status right now he needed answers. But all he wanted to do was sleep away this headache. So he sprawled back out on the cold damp floor and imagined himself to sleep. Maybe he would wake up and this would all be a dream.