The last place I expected to be on birthday

The last place I expected to be on birthday forty was inside a six-foot by eight-foot jail cell. But there I was... outfitted in an orange jumpsuit and mushroom-colored sandals.
I really hated the sandals they just didn't go with the rest of my outfit. It was my birthday perhaps the warden would let me wear something new and surely there is no harm in
asking for the day off too. Birthdays are holidays, right? The warden did not see it my way but didn't exactly say 'no' either. 'You can go shopping when hell freezes over.'
Hell would freeze over before this place. I surveyed the four walls of my cell, harsh and tasteless as this chunk of prison food they try to call "meat". If only I had
a Nimbus 2015. That way, when the prison guards let us our for 'exercise' I could fly away. As I lay in my cell that night
I sprinkled metal shavings I'd smuggled from the prison machine shop on angel wings I'd constructed from a coat hanger and the insides of my pillow case & polished my nimbus.
I could tell from the faces of my cell mates that I was the most beautiful man in block 109. I opened my homemade wings to ascend but the physics was wrong. A hobbled seraph I was
for the moment, soon to be a hobbled seraph prison bride. What Jehovah granted in flight, he took away in fighting ability. After a number of divorce/remarriage cycles, I had grown
Sick of taking narcotics and chose to take a job at a pizza joint.
That joint was amazing, man! It's pepperoni aroma added to the experience and made me want to toke more doobies like this. So now I'm big on crack and need to do rehab all over.

Started: 2015-07-19 21:05:25
Finished: 2016-02-11 14:39:01

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