My favorite chair in here is a relic from a totally different time. All of the chairs are plastic and covered in countless scuff marks from fights, riots, and usage as exercise equipment. They’re all from the 1980s. The ever-increasing jail budget does not go hand in hand in hand to any amenities on the inmate side, and definitely not changing the chairs.
The chairs are heavy enough plastic to break a cheek bone with or survive a nuclear blast at any range. But my favorite is this yellow one that has a bunch cigarette burns on it, the scars on its matte plastic skin reflects a lifetime of small abuses that formed into a sort of armored suit, or exoskeleton designed to shield it from discomfort.
After enough snake bites, you develop an immunity to the venom. After enough cigarette burns, they barely hurt enough to wake you up anymore.
Enlightenment through pain, Detachment through agony. This chair is my teacher. I will use my scars and burns as a stone pillar to prop up my fellow man, or at least crack them up. Shake them up. Beat them up. Something “Up” is in store today. Please allow me to keep my head up without trying to trip me.
“Script gang” “Trav Magic” “writer”
Travis Muffhuggin Ryan