(Gabriele’s journal – December 3, 1990) (Nick’s narrative – February 3, 2022) The Fifth Precinct station house was only three blocks away on Mott Street. On the walk there, I realized I was still the same juvenile delinquent I was at seventeen when I first graduated from the local town jail to the county jail. Now here I was making it to the big time again. The Tombs. After frisking me at the station house before transporting me to central…
(Gabriele’s journal – December 3, 1990) (Nick’s narrative – February 10, 2022) “You got a cigarette?” “No.” “Then you’re more worthless than shaky jake here. At least he’s got cigarettes.” Alright, fuck it. I’m on my own. Let’s see what happens. It was now the middle of the night. My adrenaline high from this adventure was wearing off, but not my baseline apprehensiveness. I couldn’t sleep and wished I had a couple cigarettes to make it through the night….
(Gabriele’s journal – December 3, 1990) (Nick’s narrative – February 17, 2022) The guards pass out one bologna sandwich to everyone about every six hours. Sometimes they’re worth a cigarette in trade. A Hispanic kid walked up to me asking for a phone call offering his sandwich. The kid didn’t look old enough to be locked up with adults. He clearly had no money or cigarettes to trade and his sandwich was worthless to me, but I felt obliged to…
(Gabriele’s journal – February 15, 1991) (Nick’s narrative – February 24, 2022) He must have read my apprehensiveness and confusion. “Relax. You haven’t seen a scar like this before, have you.” “No. What kind of operation was it?” “Yeah, I guess you could call it an operation. Let’s share that smoke you offered me.” I was expecting to hear about some medical procedure, but I would soon be enlightened. “After I tell you my story, I’ll want to hear yours,”…