burialrabbits

Dear Neil Garriscond,

Its almost winter, isnt it? Today during lunchtime, this guy got the sharp end of a sliver from a broken cafeteria tray shoved into his abdomen and he bled to death before the guards could carry him to the infirmary. Someone had called out, No, thats fuckin not alright! just moments before all the commotion started and the first cry sounded. Lunch was abruptly cancelled while they pulled him from the mess hall like a wailing spider, shaking with his eyes rolling back in his head, and I hadnt quite finished picking at my food yet so this was hardly the news Id longed for. I slid a unopened apple juice carton into my sock and filed out with everyone else, thirsty but not wanting to get caught taking food from the cafeteria.

In some form of retribution for the guard who had his neck slashed with another piece from the broken lunch tray, the warden has called for cell to cell searches, and I hear theyve even been confiscating paperback books just to be jerks about it. My tireless attorney Bale Serrick has attained a leave for me, though, for which I am indebted to him through thanks and grace.

So tomorrow at 6 o'clock a.m., Im to be escorted by two armed guards to the front of the building, and under the legal supervision of Hollywood producer Louis Yorba, the judge has given me the judicial okay to tour with TriStar Cinema as their photographer/personal advisor on a package promotion tour for Robert Redfords new project Were Pale, Half Dead.

I will be drinking a fair amount of brandy on every stop of the tour, I believe. Because theres so little else to do while photographing a cross-country trip with executives calling during important meetings underwater.

Until Im to return,
Culver.