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Updated: June 9, 2025
The old pain in my ribs and stomach is with me now as I write these lines. But the poor, maltreated machinery has served its purpose. It has enabled me to live thus far, and it will enable me to live the little longer to the day they take me out in the shirt without a collar and stretch my neck with the well-stretched rope. But the double-jacketing was the last straw.
"Another jacket . . . Warden . . . It . . . will . . . be . . . so . . . much . . . er . . . warmer." And my whisper faded away as I ebbed down into the little death. I was never the same man after that double-jacketing. Never again, to this day, no matter what my food, was I properly nurtured. I suffered internal injuries to an extent I never cared to investigate.
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