He had waited far too long for this. Five years was a long time for him. And this was his first time. Growing up in the ordinary suburbs of Denver, he never thought his life would one day lead him here. As he stood outside the huge gates and glanced back at the security and the barbed wire fences and the yards beyond that, he felt alienated.
When he went to prison, he did not fit in with the crowd. He didn’t know which ‘car’ he belonged to, he didn’t know he would have to ‘keister’ things up his ass, he didn’t know what ‘papers’ meant. Now he knew. He also knew what it is like to be abused sexually and mentally. The first year, he swore to himself that when he stepped out of prison, it would be akin to stepping out of a bathtub, leaving the soapy water behind and feeling the freshly scrubbed and scented skin. He would step into a meaningful life where he would find a job, get married, have children, fight with his wife, and grow old breathing ocean air of – he didn’t care where. He swore he would never drink again or do drugs. He swore he would steer clear of trouble.
But now, standing outside the prison, he felt lost. He felt he did not fit outside. All those promises to himself were four years ago. He had nowhere to go now. His only contacts were through the connections he made in the prison. He looked at his watch. It was five in the evening. He took a bus.
It was 8 P.M. when he stood in front of the club “Rojo.” He knew whom to meet inside the seedy club.
