This dude with a tattoo all down his arm that looks like thick black knives comes up to me in the dayroom when I’m waiting to jump in on some handball to ask me if I’m Uso.
I know he’s 617, topside, bunking by the stairs. I seen him.
He looks like he don’t believe me when I say Sureño. I tell him I don’t know what Uso is. He says it’s Islanders. He says it’s a race car. And he knows I’m Samoan. He sees me. He wants to know why I’m with Sureños anyways. I tell him cuz it’s where I’m from. He comes back by saying my blood is where I’m from. We leave it at that.
Later, I think on how what he said about the blood is true. And not true at the same time …
It’s that same night before lights-out that I see something I don’t like seeing.
Tim Muhammad gets moved to the top row of my fucking dorm.
And it’s for no good reason I can think of. Except maybe the deputies want us to fight again or some shit.
The next morning I see him talking to the black shotcaller we got in here too, then they turn. And they both look at me.
I tell Nada about it like I’m supposed to. I don’t sleep so good after that tho.