Thumbs stepped off the rattletrap Miami gov bus and stood on the cracked sidewalk of SW Fourteenth Street, the sizzling sun baking down on the top of his tattooed bald head. The sounds and smells of home turf enveloped him like a soothing balm. Sixty back-breaking days in the dank hell of the Fort Lauderdale Citadel making one big one out of little ones for Resisting Arrest made an inner-city troll long for the hot open streets again. It was fragging wonderful to be back. Right where he belonged, on Slammer turf.