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In prison, friendships developed like a seed; they took time, love and patience to bloom. You would think that there was a secret for making a friend in an environment like prison, but truly, no, relationships just happened like when Rah moved into my cell in Augusta State Prison. The day I met Rah, we would've bypassed one another if we weren't cellies, being that I'm nearly 15 years older than him. Plus — because we're New Yorkers — he's from Queens and I'm from Manhattan.

A transgender entered our housing unit and shouted female on the floor. This was a sergeant who looked like a man on the outside, but was a woman at heart--and those incarcerated did not agree. You heard men screaming, "You're not a female, you're a man." As I witnessed this, I became disgusted by the men around me. Why? This reminded me of when African Americans were being called the N-word. As the day progressed, I wondered how we couldn't be more than angry men who lashed

I met Micky J on Augusta Correctional Center, a man who spent 40 years incarcerated in a Virginia prison. He reminded me of the pimp from the classic Superfly movie. His salt and pepper afro was always well-maintained, as was his sculpted body for a 60-year-old man. He worked out all the time and bragged about being in better shape than the younger men around him. What made him most proud was how he kept the tiled floor in the dayroom polished like glass. That was Micky J, no