It was pitch dark. The heat radiating from the walls of the cell wouldn't leave me alone. Sweat dripped off my hairy body. The night moved slowly-as slowly as the walls cooled.
Being in the Administrative Segregation Unit (The Hole), life moves at a snail's pace. There is little to do physically and even less when it's burning hot. Time seems to slow to a stop. A 24-hour day feels like a week; a week is a month and a month is eternity.
During the day the noise from steel doors slamming shut, the rattle of chains, clinking of keys, and voices from others provides a certain rhythm, but when it's...
