Some of them love the life inside.
They’ll say they hate it. But they like it.
Some of them will commit a crime the day they get out.
So they can come back in.
They are comfortable here.
They know where they stand.
They know who they are.
They have a place.
On the outside, they’re the people beggin’ for change.
Gimme a loonie gimme a toonie—
Gimme five bucks for food. Sellin’ their bodies . . . for drugs.
I can recognize them instantly, even if I don’t know them. It’s something in the face, in the body.
The way they hold themselves.
This place stains them.
Forever. All of them.
It stains some of US too . . .
And the thing of it is . . . it’s an unwipeoffable stain . . .