I’m innocent. I haven't done anything wrong, I tell him.
What is it, I ask.
There’s a parfait glass on the tray.
What’s it look like.
It looks like lime Jell-O salad, I say.
Eat. While it's cold, he says.
Cain't give ya anything metal, he says.
A plastic spoon. Or a plastic fork.
So what do I do.
Eat with your fingers. Quit talkin' and eat. Your lime Jell-O salad's startin' to run.
At eight the next morning he comes to my cell.
Really, I ask.