Letters to No One

Letters 1

Dear No One,

I have a game tonight. I have been running this one for almost four months now. It's not so bad. I know you think it is easy to find good Dungeons and Dragons players in prison but it is not. Whoever told you that it was is a liar. This pod has more people interested in the game than I have seen before. I had to split the group to accommodate everyone.
Tonight's group is six including myself. There are only four stools to a table so we have to rush out of the cell at the appointed hour to snag chairs as well. After nine o'clock count it is not always busy, weekends are worse. For some reason we all adhere to the weekday workday mindset despite none of us having real jobs.
One guy cleans the showers.
I made a cake. It was not game related; something to split between me and my celly because he whips up meals on a regular basis and I do not. The recipe is simple; three packs of chocolate chip cookies, a can of soda, and a chocolate bar. The cookies are dry and crumble easily, crush them all into a bowl. The soda mixes, and it goes into the microwave, turning every minute or so until it looks solid. The chocolate is a bonus; melt and pour on top with leftover crumbles. It will be very soft fresh out of the microwave, hardening if you let it sit for a few hours.
It is freaking magic.
Either that or the carbonation in the soda makes the cookie flesh rise again.
Dinner was crap, so I can congratulate myself on the cake once more. A few hours until the game. Wish me luck.

PS: Something interesting happened tonight. While we were playing dnd another group was gambling and the backgammon board was confiscated because they played on top of it, a common practice to preserve the fidelity of the cards. Afterword they switched to pinochle and all was
well. An officer returned to the pod to confiscate the cards because they were two different colors, red and blue. An argument ensued, and as they sent in a rookie nothing happened except that someone unrelated to anything became vociferous about the admitted stupidity of the situation. The pinochle cards were the ones issued to the pod for general use, and still relatively new. That's just what they look like, they are not contraband. So the day was won. One caveat, the vociferous
gentleman continued to be opinionated with the officers in the booth,
not about the cards but about his right to be loud and to argue with
whom he pleases. He did not enjoy having been told to stay out of it.
A sergeant came into the pod to walk him out. I have not seen him
since. The cards were untouched, no longer an issue. There is something I have noticed held in common by many of my confreres, the incarcerated: pride is more important than its consequences.
Something to think about.

Yours, (15-4-22)