Before I knew that I had even been arrested, a deputy was yelling at some other guys to, "pick 'em up and put 'em down." "This is not summer camp!" The deputy in his green uniform hollered.
As with most recent arrestees I could hardly under-stand the goings-on around me. Still in my own clothes, I had been told to enter a holding cell where seventeen other men were already lying around. I walked in look-ing at the ground trying to decide where the best place for me to sit would be. Some guys were lying on the cold concrete benches while others were simply lying on the floor. The smell of booze and body odor was enough to gag a maggot. Nobody had any intention of relinquishing their comfortable spot to a new guy.
I was in holding cell N-7 of the notorious LOOP in Orange County Central Jail. Everybody who is arrested spends long miserable hours in such a cell. While the deputies of the Orange County Sheriff find accom-modations for the several hundred dirty dead-beats to be housed, we sit in the LOOP. Being so tired to begin with, I was having difficulty grasping the concept that I too was now regarded as one of the dirty dead-beats. How could this be?
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