After release
Joe never slept a wink that night: gate-fever had kept his mind in turmoil and his body restless. His cell-mate's raucous battery radio - full volume! - did nothing to drown Joe's excited chatter: it merely triggered rhythmic wall-banging and water-pipe-tapping in jailbird protest all down the landing.
Joe offered his mate what little was left of his Rizlas and tobacco: an insult to one tired irritable con. Joe had nothing else to offer him. All his other bits and pieces - half a tube of toothpaste, a few sprays of deodorant, most of a notepad and an old T-shirt - had already gone to his other pals amid the dubious 'farewell' rituals on the Wing last night before Bang-up.