dying for a smoke, her slipping me the marlb'ry lights, and me, roommate, fletcher and sneaky black dude all rushing immediately to the toilet to smoke. sbd advises hiding the smokes (which go for at least fifty cents per, and are strictly forbidden on the ward) next to my cock so as to avoid being found out during a frisk. excellent advice, as the ward wards immediately caught us all.
           the fat woman who tried to kill her husband and herself: —what did you think they'd do when you all ran off together to the bathroom?
           the cigarettes survived the subequent frisk; the half-sack of hydro in my levi's (not so-) secret pocket did not. (i found the other half-sack in a t-shirt pocket once i got home.) next comes her leaving under heavy accusation of criminally supplying the insane with smokes and drugs; in her place comes the bad one and the police. we sit at a table watching the three police watching me, obviously considering seriously the wisdom of moving a recent suicide attempt into custody. hot potato time in ward six. they finally do nothing i am aware of, but i lose visiting priveleges.
           roommate is frustrated! —you could have sold that in here! i give him the marlboros and an explanation that i had no remembrance. he's happy to get the smokes which he will trade with other sixers for cookies.