Outside, views of other over-crowded cells, the jing clank stock stride of 2nd generation Americans. Seventeen of us in nine by twelve means we can't sleep straight, some poor souls have to sit by the latrine. For nearly two hours - closing my dry eyes and opening them to the same light green flourescent lit madness. The naked demonstrator meditates. A redhead wearing a Kenyon sweatshirt sleeps on the floor.
Conversation is sporadic, humour rare and refreshing.
With my impatience and incredulity, I am the least seasoned of the bunch. Nearly all of these folk have been arrested before. Yeah, this is my twelveth time in jail. Last time it was more crowded. The veteran protestors had vignettes, small-town lockups and big city brigs, I guess they don't get along with the law.