What were they saying? That couldn't be right. This was just nonsense.
Yes, Terrence was used to orange jump suits down at county. He yawned, not wanting to listen to anymore. It couldn't be true. No..no..he knew his bed was too cold at night. This much he knew.
He'd thought he'd run down to the old diner for a burger, but it was even closed. Terrence pressed his lips tight, thinking a cigarette might be nice.
He had no memory of Thanksgiving day. He really didn't.
He found himself smiling, sitting handcuffed as if he might turn into a monster, any second. He wanted to eat, but there went his stomach churning, and he couldn't keep his foot from tapping if he tried. Suddenly, the shakes took over. He'd ride it out like a roller coaster. Except his headache was much too thick in the head. Maybe he did feel faint.
"I think I need to see a doctor." He finally explained. After all, this ...well..who ever in the hell he was talking to.... here at the jail. Didn't they know he wasn't well?
He didn't believe a thing what they were saying. He didn't know nothing about a pickup. Yes, he'd been staying out in the woods in a hunter's cabin.
It was no more than a school bus without the wheels. It was painted green and the bed was no more than a cot.
He sniffed as if he really did have a cold, after all. Or maybe..just maybe he was allergic to this place.
Still, he'd get three meals a day, a place to stay. Even a television room. Well, he'd heard it. They hadn't let him have that privilege yet. But it was coming. The good life, indeed.