His voice betrayed his size.
“I’d like to do your portrait,” said my new roommate who was the size of a mountain but sounded like a six-year-old.
I laughed, thinking the man was joking. He wasn’t.
“You have a darker complexion so I’m going to start with burnt umber. Okay?”
I nodded. I didn’t care what color he used. Who knew what this behemoth was capable of?
He then picked me up and plopped me onto the top bunk.
“Smile,” he said, beginning his sketch.
I expected prison to be strange.
I had no idea it would be this strange.
The Weekday One Hundred 