(Sometimes the best way to describe something is thru experiential circumstance. The reader can then best judge for themselves…)
The first day I walked onto the rec field at FCI McKean, PA, there was a baseball game in progress. The prison team wore NY Yankee uniforms and the other was a townie-team (Bradford, PA). MacDonald’s, I think.
I could hear my rap-partner’s rock-band (Larry Genoa) in another section of the field playing “Hollywood Nights.” The strong aroma of grilled meat supplied by the prison kitchen was on the barbecue. I could almost imagine the heady smell of reefer wafting in the air. Almost… I bought some ice cream from the inmate-controlled alternate commissary just off the field.
Seeing a group of prisoners sitting on a rail, I couldn’t help but notice an Hispanic or Indian-looking chick in hot pants and halter with long black hair and oversized breasts sitting with them. Inmates generally wore sports clothes in their off-time and the guards had mostly blue jeans, along with their radios and keys.
It was the summer of ’94. Having already served 4-yrs of my 25-yr sentence in three different joints, this was a prison sight one could only imagine. Sitting next to a guy watching the game, I asked, “Who’s the chick?”
He glanced over and smiled. “That’s not a chick, it’s ‘Lola.’ And she’s a he.” That was my first surprise.