At dinner, another sacked meal is rudely dropped through his wicket. After trays are collected, a guard passes his cell. He's sharpening a spoon. We are provided only small, brittle, plastic picnic spoons with our trays which must be returned. He has not received a tray this day.
More guards arrive.
Again he is told to cuff up. And again he refuses, trying to retain a shred of self-respect in the face of such effrontery. Two hours pass. The tension in the air is palpable. Most of us have been through this before.