The Way To Get To Prison Is This:

When the bars closed in the evening with their familiar sound, she knew she had grown accustomed to them. It wasn't dark yet and her roommate - as much as she would have liked to call her that - was this five ton black woman that snored at night and rarely threw more than a grin in her direction. It wasn't cold, but the prison cell certainly felt like it every morning and when darkness set in. It must have been the color of the walls or the fact that everything was made out of steel that gave that impression - she didn't know for sure. The air was damp and the last chatters of the day echoed through the hall was the inmates finally accepted their fate for one more day.

She did what she always did since she was moved here. She closed her eyes and turned her face towards the wall. The pillow felt cold and a bit moist because of all the fungus that was poisoning the air. The guards either grew accustomed to it or they knew they could do nothing about it. The prison was running low on funds as it was.

Greta, the large black woman grunted shortly and covered herself with the gray blanket. She rarely spoke and G. didn't mind. In the six months she has been here she never found out what the woman was in for, if she was to complete her sentence the net day or if she were to remain her roommate for the next 35 years.

35 years. That's the best you can hope for when you get charged with first degree murder. What they don't tell you when they hand you that small silver envelope and offer you a light is that meth is not always fun. There are downsides to it. Like when you remain without your silver envelopes and you have to sell your TV to make it through the next month. And then your couch so you have to sleep on the floor. And then the landlord finds out that you have sold his washing machine and he chases you around the building block so you have to hide for a few days, cops always breathing on your back. At every street turn there's this young student, maybe your age, maybe older. And if he's wearing a blue shirt you see a cop in him. Even if it's a paramedic, you see a cop instead of the white uniform and turn and start running again. This you do because you don't want to go to prison.

They don't give out meth in prison.

Ad it's not like on the street there wouldn't already be thousands of penniless junkies all begging for a fix that will give them eight more hours. Eight more hours that at least resemble what they thought their happy lives would be. When they were kids and their parents told them they will make them proud - these junkies didn't think they'd be chasing needles down the alleys or dip them in black spoons full of warm bubbles. When their mothers told them they would be the ones that make it to college or heal their relatives with white overalls and doctor glasses, these junkies just nodded and let their lives take them into some dark and humid part of town. Not a sunny suburb, but the broken back alleys of worn-down factories. Crowded with other teenagers and war veterans along rusty pipes that give warmth in winter and leave brown stains on your neck.

It was with these people that G. found herself in those days, running away from a second hand TV set, a sofa and a washing machine that barely got her from Monday through Saturday. Compared to the damp basements covered in coughs and the bleeding nails that came out o the woodwork of abandoned houses, the current accommodations didn't seem so bad at all.

And it's not like she never wanted to be a lawyer or a manager. It's not like she wanted the life of a homeless person. But at one point in life you get really sick and your aunt has to sell the little she has to help you be better. And when your aunt gets sick, there's nothing left to sell. So you're angry and you feel helpless and you want to get back at the world and still look for that tiny little spot of joy you used to know as a child. So maybe you run away from all that instead of dealing with it. So maybe you leave one day and not say goodbye and tie your hair into a knot and hit the highway with one bag hanging from your shoulder and the right hand thumb up signaling for Boston. And Boston turns to New York and you're working this job that doesn't pay off and you live off crackers for weeks until you meet this girl that's just like you. And maybe she sais she likes to party and shows you around and you meet her friends. And maybe her friends all have these tiny silver packages they care very much about and they open them up at parties and sniff them or burn them and roll their eyes at the smoke.

That white in their eyes must be what lawyers and successful people are made of.

So maybe you try. Just a bit. The first hit a junkie takes is always free.

So when after two weeks you spend the little money you had on envelopes full of heaven, maybe your new friends give you more. You're good credit they say and they hook you up with this Latino character that has this tattoo of a Mayan god on his forearm. And the Mayan god is more than happy with your offerings and he just gives and gives and gives. Until he gives no more. Until he starts demanding you quit your job and get a better one so you can pay for his offering. And the Mayan god has friends of his own and they're vengeful gods. And once in a while they let you slip and then demand more money. You start stealing from your customers and keep every tip they give you. You start taking bits of their food while you bring them plates because you haven't eaten in days. And maybe one day you'll end up in prison for murder.

Last count before night time is the signal that whatever rest and peace you have in this place is about to start. The guard passes by your cell, says your number and you have to move your arm or somehow acknowledge his presence. Otherwise the doors will all open and everyone will know it was you who didn't submit. Who ruined their sleep. Their peace. The quiet. Those doors make an awful sound and they screech for a second and everybody in this place hates that noise.

So when your number is called, you raise your hand to avoid that screech.

The way to get into prison is this: first you have to completely trust the only friend you think you have. And when she steals your money one day, you have to go back to the restaurant and work for three more days until the manager finally can't put up with your lack of motivation and your sad looks. So he fires you. And several silver envelopes later, when the fridge is empty and you haven't paid rent in maybe five weeks, you sell your TV. And your sofa. And then goes the washing machine so you'll end up in an abandoned hotel that reeks and where all the good places are already taken.

What they don't tell you when you first try meth is that meth is not all fun. It makes you do things. It takes away your sanity and while you think you're shaving you might actually be cutting your face with the broken end of a beer bottle. G. has seen it happen to this man who took it too far.

The way to get into prison is this: you go and find yourself a damp mattress that's covered in rat droppings and you take your last fix. And right before you sweat and shiver in front of a judge, you see a knife stab the old man sleeping not five feet from you and you get to hear hurried footsteps and whispers and someone laughing put the knife next to you. So you grab it because it looks like those red candy sticks you used to love when you were seven and your parents haven't yet had their car accident. You grab it and hold it tight and it's wet and the red is all over your hands and you lick them and taste the sugar.

The way to get into prison is this: they shine a light in your face and recite the mantra. Then they take you for a car ride along with seven other junkies and they take photographs of you. Two bright flashes and you're on a screen facing west and south. Two bright flashes and you're there on a screen, standing still with sleepy eyes and black spots under your eyelids, a shadow you climbing the horizontal straight lines that tell a person its height. And by the time you really wake up, you're already behind bars. Your first thought is how much you'll get for a TV, a sofa and a washing machine, but they have other plans for you.

The way to get to prison is this: