April 1, Sunday

Julie, my wife, came to see me today. It was a wonderful 15 minutes. I got to see a card through the glass with the names of a lot of my friends. That meant a lot to me.

I talk to my friend, Chad, most of the day. That’s more enjoyable than anything else to do. I have one appellate argument to prepare for, but less than the full set of briefs and record excerpts to study.

There is a retarded black man named Wesley in the next cell, along with Chad. There are only 2 2-man cells where I am at here in protective custody.

Wesley decides to trash his cell. He swamps it with water from the toilet, wetting all his clothes and bedding. The jailers bring more bedding and tell him not to do it again.

Jail seems the totally wrong place for Wesley. He appears to have the intellect of a dull 5 year old. He thinks he is from Conway and the best I can gather is accused of hurting a child.

As I talk with other inmates, they tell me of continuance after continuance until a guilty plea is forthcoming.

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