In the late fifties I was aboard a Mexican prison bus, sentenced to 90 days in jail for possession of paraphernalia. Plus I had a trail of red needle marks running up my arms from constantly injecting heroin in my veins. I had ankle bracelets around my legs that were attached to several people who looked like they were in the same situation I was.
One more time I wondered what kind of a mess I'd gotten myself in.
There were only four of us when we went down there. I don't know where we hooked up with the other two. I think they were sailors stationed in nearby San Diego and had drank too much liquor while on their visit. In any case it seemed like it took us forever to get the van to the jail down the bumpy winding road.
Once we arrived we were dragged off the bus and deposited into a large noisy room wth 300 or so other people in it. All those people shared one toilet and one very slowly dripping shower head. It was hell on earth.
I swore that If I ever got out of that place I'd never return. But I was lying to myself and lying to the world.
It took me a lot of days of jail and bad decisions before I finally got 26 years sober. A lot of pain and misery before I could change.
