Our usual furry friend, Steamboat Willy, came scurrying up to the duty desk, Brutal peered over the desk, grinning.
"Well, If it ain't Steamboat Willy, how you doin' bud?"
Willy's ears perked up, his oil drop eyes glistening, and his pink tail waved, as if he said, hey, I'm doing great, how 'bout you? Brutal's grin turned into a bright beam, he snapped a finger at Dean, sitting next to him.
"Got some of that sandwich left, Deanie?" Dean jumped a little.
"Yeah."
Dean reached slowly for his lunch, solidly sitting on the duty desk, took out a half eaten sandwich, and handed it to Brutal. Brutal nicked a piece of the corn beef sandwich, leaned forward, and tossed it over the desk. The morsel landed neatly in front of Willy, sniffed at it, and ate with such eloquence. I chuckled and admired Steamboat Willy.
There was a sudden rattling of keys outside of the exercise yard door, beneath all the key noise, I heard a crumpling of a paper bag, and I turned my head towards the door, expecting to see Percy. Once the door opened, a flood of hot light approached the duty desk, at this time Brutal and Dean turned heads to the door. Nika trotted in—with a paper bag, as I suspected —dressed in a long ruffled jade skirt, a large ashen ribbon around her torso, supporting her breasts quite neatly. I suppose Percy only loved Nika for her body, but, who am I to say? Nika skipped steadily as she approached the duty desk—Willy jumped in time to avoid being stepped on, climbed her skirt, and sat unharmed on her shoulder, the brown bag piqued his interest, and his fine whiskers twitched. She slid on her white flats, and halted in front of the desk, her white hair swished by, and settled behind her. There was a sugary, warm smell escaping the thin brown paper bag, I knew it was a pastry, one I've eaten before, I couldn't remember the name. This pastry began being sold by 1930, but Nika only introduced me to it about twice, this was the third. She opened the bag, and sniffed its contents. By this time, the aroma was unbearable, I, Brutal and Dean were almost about to snatch the bag from her hands and gorge ourselves, but that was only a thought.

"Oh Miss Volya, how sweet of you to get me a little treat." Said Brutal, leaning closer and stretching out an arm to get a hold of the bag. Nika retracted her arm just in time to keep the bag away from Brutal.
"Well, since you were the first to say anything, I guess you do get the first bite of this 'little treat'."
"Nika," I said. "What is the name of those pastries you have there?" I was sitting on the duty desk, since the only two chairs behind the duty desk were occupied.
"Twinkies. Fresh ones. Not like the kind you buy. I got a comrade who works at the factory where they make 'em, and I guess I stopped by at the right time to get these." She spoke with no hint of a Ruskie accent at all; I suppose I'll tell you a little about her. Nika was sent to the U.S in 1929 because her father died and she had no other family. She wandered from state to state on the east coast, until she came to Louisiana and stayed here ever since. How I met her was a bit humorous. I was driving to Cold Mountain, I saw a hitchhiker who had well tailored suit, a white umbrella, but was too curvy to be a man. So, I picked up the hitchhiker—no woman should be left on the side of the road, I'll tell you that, especially a foreigner. When she entered my truck, the first thing she said was, 'Privet, I am Nika Anatolyevna Volya, I seek a home to live for three days, if there are children, I shall teach them my native language, Russian.' I agreed. (My children learned Russian fluently and my grandchildren know basic sentences, later on my eldest son and his family moved to Russia, and I receive vodka frequently and letters, too.) I drove her to Cold Mountain—telling her 'why did the chicken cross the road' joke; she loved it, soon I found out she loved puns—and introduced her to Brutus and Dean. The three of us taught her Basic English for the first year, later on we taught her more complex English. She was pretty bright for a 15 year old at the time; we even celebrated her birthdays on the Green Mile. The inmates enjoyed her company, played cards with them, worked out in the exercise yard and calmed them down when they had a date with Sparky. She had pale skin, she almost seemed albino, but albinos' didn't have green eyes. She was slender, but tough and could really kick anyone's ass, of course; she was part of the Soviet Army and soon to be part of the U.S army also. The most unique quality about Nika is how honest she is, she'd always be by my side and anyone else's. She never—and probably didn't have a thought of—abandoning a friend. (Comrade, as she would say.) Nika was now 17, and sharp as a barbers' cut.
"Lucky us." Dean blurted out.

"I mean—lucky you." Dean awkwardly sat in his chair; Brutal and I chuckled.
"Yeah, sure…" Nika stuck her tongue out at Dean. Brutal sighed, and leaned back into his chair, waiting for his Twinkie. Nika walked around the duty desk, Twinkie in hand, and Willy, (I'll address him as Mr. Jingles from now on.) sniffed at her neck, and curiosity looked at the bag and back to her hand. Nika stood behind Brutal's chair, walked forward until his head was between the valley of her breasts. Brutal was blushing, but Nika couldn't see his red face, only Dean and I could, I stifled a cackle, almost to the point I was red in the face myself. Her left hand lay on his left shoulder, her right had gone around his head, and the Twinkie was brushed put against his lips until he opened his mouth and took a bite. Brutal took the rest of the uneaten Twinkie into his own hand and mumbled.
"T-thank you, Miss." Nika snorted at this and said,
"You're very welcome." She backed away, and Brutal's head was no longer comfortable against her bosom. She walked up to me and hugged me warmly, I returned the hug, and her hugs always lasted about twenty seconds.
"How you doin' Paulie?"
"I'm well Nika, how 'bout you?"
"Fine and dandy." We let go of each other and Mr. Jingles scurried down Nika's torso into the ashen ribbon. She jerked and giggled a bit, but she knew now why Mr. Jingles hid. Percy Wetmore walked in from the exercise yard.
"Some lugoon left the door open." Percy then shut and locked the door. Brutal finished eating his Twinkie and was now peering at Percy, Dean was doing the same.
"I've forgotten," Nika stood in front of the duty desk once again, pulled out a Twinkie from the bag, and held it out towards Percy.
"I'm sorry?" She said. Percy grinned; that ill grin that didn't sit well with me, probably never has. He strolled in the direction of her, seized the Twinkie, took a bite and breathed a deep breath of satisfaction.
"Mm mm mm. Mighty fine Twinkie you got here, I apologize for calling you a lugoon, and I thought it was Dean who left the door open, Darlin'." Percy loved Nika, he was fanatical over her, but at the same time, Brutal fancied Nika, there was a bit of tension between the two. Brutal was well over her age, he was thirty-nine, Percy Wetmore: twenty-one. Percy had a better chance with age, but not personality. Arrogant, young, ill-tempered, I, not even Percy himself, knew what he was going to do next; and that was not delightful for E block, or any of us. Percy laid a hand on Nika's pale cheek, and kissed the other. Her face twisted in disgust.
"Yee-awe!" Toot Toot made his appearance known, but I ignored him and I guess the others did too. Brutal stood up and whispered to me that he was going to see Admin, and left silently.

"Get a room you two; I don't want any stains on the mile." Dean bellowed.
"Maybe we will." Percy replied.
"Gross!" She shoved Percy away, snatched a Twinkie from the bag, and marched down the Green Mile, happily chomping on the pastry. Mr. Jingles revealed himself from Nika's torso ribbon, little paws clenched over top, and poking his little head out, like a joey in its mothers' pouch. She fed him a spot of Twinkie. Percy watched her sway down the mile, the skirt nicely defining her behind. He snapped out of it, looked at me embarrassingly. He unsheathed his baton, spun it, and grinned. Nika gently took Mr. Jingles from her ribbon, bent over in front of the padded room, and set him free. Mr. Jingles scurried under the grey door and disappeared.

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