![]() I’m shoved into the humidity of the showers. He hands me a tan bath towel that’s 11 inches wide, and a thin sliver of green soap. “One towel, one soap, one towel, one soap!” shouts the guard manning the process today. Guys shouting to be heard by their friends standing just a few feet away. Now the sounds coursing out of the shower room are overwhelming. “You two shut it and keep moving,” shouts a female guard as we walk by. Opposite-sex guards can watch you dress and piss, and they make offensive remarks, and it's taken for granted that sexual assault by staff is covered up or ignored. It’s 2016-you’d think they would have come up with something different by now.” In other words, PREA-the Prison Rape Elimination Act-does not exist in here, and never will. “Yo,” I say, “they need to put individual showers in the dorms this shit is nuts.” Step by step, I shuffle forward amid the mass of bodies, waiting to get inside. The hall smells like week-old dead bodies, and that’s putting it mildly. We walk wearing only boxers and shower shoes those of us who have families on the outside to provide for us are also carrying our own soap. The line to the showers is 150-plus strong. The noise coming out of the prison units is deafening-people yelling and slamming dominoes. The hallway is even hotter than the outside. Twenty yards later, we turn back inside, into a red-brick hallway, where we walk along a yellow line. ![]() As we start walking down the hall then step outside, the smell of shit from a nearby pig barn makes my stomach turn. Besides, the faster we get walking to the showers of hell, the faster we get back.” ![]()
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