You Have Your Marching Orders

“I heard you got in a fight,” my cellie, Mickey, said.

Hands behind my head on the top bunk, I said, “It wasn’t a big deal.” Me and another dumb kid had a two minute fight in his cell. We grappled for a moment before he wrapped me up, switching off free hands to swipe at me, landing one on my chin; I slammed him into the wall with my back until he fell onto the bottom bunk. I threw rabbit punches into the back…