My name is Vincent.
What the fuck is a Blog? Since nobody here knows the answer to that, I’m going to assume it’s yet another internet based form of impersonal communication. I can get down with that.
As I sit here contemplating exactly what to write, I notice my roommate out of the corner of my eye punch his towel repeatedly, exhaling through his teeth to make a noise like you might hear in a movie or a video game. He’s super pissed that he missed the bake sale so the towel gets punished. It’s ok. I thought I heard the towel talkin’ shit earlier anyhow.
This is prison life. Live from St. Cloud Men’s Reformatorium, B House North, Galley 11, Cell #167. I am Vincent 244296.
[Editor’s … er, mom’s note: I don’t know what the “bake sale” is. Was there really a bake sale in St. Cloud state prison? Or is it code for something? Is Vince delusional? Or is it just his sense of humor? There’s no way to ask him. I can’t call him. I could ask him in an email, which he would receive in a couple days. He can’t email me back, and the chances of either of us remembering to discuss this in one of our infrequent 10-minute phones call is slim. And it’s just not that important. So you will have to live with some lack of clarity, just as I have for years. And in case you are wondering, Vince hand writes his blog posts and mails them to me when he has enough money to buy paper and stamps. I have promised not to edit him except for length, although I know I will be tempted.]
What a great project and what courage to be real on the internet with such a painful real life situation. My step mother Susan works with you and she and my sister Michelle shared this with me. I hope you and your son find it therapeutic and it inspires you and others to do good things.
I miss you and I can not wait till you are out ❤ I'm on your side.
That feels like so long ago. I had no idea what I was doing yet, but at least I could still put a sentence together. Quite possibly what kept people interested in my part of the blog.