'Watch out, fed, there's a whole army of guards,' Sanchez warned as Tony idly bounced an old basketball around the yard. 'They've got cuffs, they mean business. You better stay real quiet.'

Tony gave the ball a vicious bounce. 'Oh, I will, don't you worry!' The two weeks since Michelle's visit had been among the hardest he had spent in prison. He saw her face wherever he turned, heard her voice, felt her tears. The previous two nights had been spent awake, replaying their conversation ceaselessly, listening to her words and watching her expression. His headache threatened to turn into a migraine if he continued in such despair, yet he was unable to relax.

One of the guards pulled a whistle from his pocket and blew into it shrilly. Tony noticed every prisoner leave their groups and run to form several neat straight lines. Like drill in the army, except we're missing our rifles. He felt Sanchez's hand on his arm, pulling him into the back row. Part of him was grateful, while the rest of him longed to remain in the center of the yard with his ball, showing his defiance.

'Alright, you scum, there's two jobs available for you.' Supervisor Lee glanced round at the silent ranks.

'Gee, I guess I forgot to hand in my application!' Tony said sarcastically. Beside him Sanchez let out a faint groan, while the rest of the prisoners snickered.

The supervisor moved towards him. 'Convict Almeida, you've just volunteered! Step forward.'

Tony shook his head. 'You've got it all wrong - sir,' pausing before the final word to turn it into an insult. 'I don't volunteer for anything!'

Supervisor Lee looked at him in disgust. 'You sure did, unless you want two months in the SHU.'

Tony chewed his lip, longing to flatten the man's nose against his face. You ready to return to the SHU, Almeida? No way. Better let them humiliate you today, you'll get to enjoy some yard time tomorrow and talk to Sanchez. Slowly he stepped forward.

'That's better,' said the block supervisor. 'I always love to see the spirit of volunteering in my block. Now you'll get to go behind the kitchen block and scrub out the trash cans!' He glanced carefully at Tony to see whether he would refuse to cooperate.

'Gee, that's a job I can't refuse!' Tony remarked sarcastically, seething inside. A ripple of laughter sounded through the ranks.

'I'm warning you, Convict Almeida, any more lip from you, you'll spend a week in A-Seg after you're done,' warned the supervisor. 'Now you'll need a partner today. You' – he pointed at a rough looking Mexican, 'will join him, Fernandez.'

Another murmur ran through the ranks as he glanced at the supervisor. A cool looking Mexican said something, and he stepped reluctantly beside Tony. 'Alright, you bandits, hands behind your backs!' ordered the supervisor, watching them being cuffed. 'They're ready to go. I'm warning you, the kitchen supervisor will check your work, and if he's not satisfied, you'll find yourselves on such reduced rations a bird would be feel hungry. Now move!' he snapped.

Tony turned, searching the crowd of inmates for his 'friend'. 'Yeah, I guess he really is my friend now,' he thought, surprised. 'Sanchez, watch my ball, would you?' he called, seeing him nod. He looked about to say something else, another useful warning no doubt, but a guard turned Tony away.

They were led through the yard and into the neighboring block, through that and across another courtyard where the presence of flowerbeds indicated prisoners were never permitted. A smaller block lay to their left, a single storey building. Tony found himself sniffing the air hungrily, able to catch the scent of frying meat.

'Where the hell do you think you're going, Convict Almeida,' snapped a guard, turning him away from the kitchen entrance. 'You cons don't ever enter the kitchen, you can't be trusted there! You get to go round the back, to the garbage!'

Tony narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. This place is even worse than boot camp! At least I got KP in the kitchen there; I could grab a little food when the mess sergeant left the place! You've sunk real low Almeida, right down to the bottom! Wordless, he followed the guard round the block and through a locked gate. The small yard was surrounded by a high stone fence with rolls of barbed wire at the top, in clear view of an armed guard on a tower. The floor was concrete, with bars along the kitchen's back door, preventing anyone working there entry inside. Two taps lay on either side of the door, a hose attached to each. A pile of rotting garbage cans lined a wall. A gust of wind wafted some of the smell over to Tony who gagged, burying his mouth in his shoulder. Judging by the stench, they couldn't have been cleaned for the past several months! His partner vomited on the ground.

'Alright you bandits, you've arrived. Now that half of the trash cans is for you, the other half for him,' a guard told them, pointing out the line. 'Stand still,' he snapped, removing Tony's handcuffs, and holding him while he shackled his feet and attached a chain to it, fastening the other end to a hook in the bricks. 'Just so long as you don't get any ideas of leaving us,' he smirked.

'Wouldn't dream of it,' Tony muttered darkly.

'Convict Almeida, anymore lip and you'll get a D-report, and you can say goodbye to any visit this month,' snapped an irritated guard. Tony fell silent, not daring to comment further. He wasn't even sure whether any of his relatives could make the 400 mile trip to see him, but he couldn't prevent himself from hoping. A part of him knew that one of them would show, wherever they transferred him.

One of the guards knocked on the kitchen door and another guard inside the building unlocked it and handed out two bottles of detergent, two brushes and two cloths. 'What about the gloves?' Tony found himself asking, unable to keep silent.

'You cons don't get issued with gloves,' a guard told him with a satisfied expression on his face. 'You don't need it – use your hands. A little work never hurt anyone, ah, Fernandez?' The Mexican remained silent, refusing to look at him. The guards glared at him, pointing to the pile of cans. 'Get started. The guard from the tower has you in full view, and the guard from the kitchen has you in full view at all times, don't try anything. Now let me warn you, the kitchen supervisor will come and inspect your work, and if he smells anything other than detergent, you'll get a D-report on the spot. Now move it!'

They remained while Tony and Fernandez carried a dozen cans over to their positions. Gritting his teeth Tony removed the first lid, gagging. He leaned over and spat on the ground, taking a deep breath before he laid it on its side and turned on the hose. The jet stream directed into the middle dislodged hundreds of floating pieces of rotting remains, which began flowing out, forming a puddle round his shoes. Tony gagged again; relieved breakfast had been over two hours ago, hoping he could manage to keep it inside. Taking another deep breath he turned the hose onto the puddle, washing it further into the yard, before directing it back inside the bin. More pieces poured out, forming a new puddle, sloshing into his shoes.

'Maldito sea!' he cursed, turning the bin a little further and moving away to a dry spot. Presently nothing further came out of the bin, no matter how hard he directed the water against the sides. Gritting his teeth and muttering oaths his father never heard, he poured detergent inside and reached for the brush. Shuddering in disgust he began scrubbing the edge, pausing to remove his top and throw it as far as it would fly. Moving any rotting mould from the bin required hard scrubbing and plenty of water and detergent, and he was soaked to the skin before a single side was cleaned. Soon after he began the second side of the bin his stomach heaved violently and his breakfast joined the slimy foul smelling puddle. He was too miserable to be able to feel sympathy for Fernandez who vomited a couple of feet from him on the other side of the door.

This is your fault entirely, Almeida. Now I sure hope you learned your lesson about keeping your mouth SHUT! Did Sanchez get picked for this job? Did any of the others get picked? No! And why not? Because these semi-literate thugs got more sense than you'll ever have – they know when to keep silent!

It seemed to take hours for the muck to be scrubbed from the bin. Tony was wet and exhausted by the time he felt it would pass inspection. He moved it aside, taking it as far as his chain would permit him to go, and turned it upside down to dry, pulling the next one out of the pile. Idly he counted how many trash cans remained. Counting the one he just pulled out, there were ten. He would be there all day at this rate! Grimly he moved to the tap, turning the hose on.

'Who are you expecting,' a voice asked him in Spanish, startling him out of his reverie. He glanced at Fernandez, who held the brush in his hand, still unable to reach inside the first bin.

'What do you mean?' he asked.

'I saw the way your face changed when they threatened your visit,' Fernandez told him. 'You must love her very much.'

'I do,' he agreed before he bit his tongue. He turned the hose on, spraying it savagely into the bin, sending water and rotting pieces flying out, covering himself with filth in the process.

'She hasn't left you yet, ah?' questioned Fernandez, giving him a knowing look. 'They almost all do in the end. Who are you expecting, her or your parents?'

'None of your bloody business,' snapped Tony, turning the hose on himself and washing off a little of the filth. She'll leave me in the end, I know it. Don't think about that now Almeida, there's nothing you can do about it. He pulled the bin around, enabling him to turn his back on the conversation. Grimly he set about dislodging the pieces with the brush, glad he had nothing more left in his stomach.

'Gonzales wants to talk to you,' Fernandez continued, not bothered by his having turned away. 'He'll see you in the yard tomorrow.' Tony ignored him, scrubbing hard with his brush. 'Just walk over to him, he's expecting you.'

Tony withdrew his head from the bin. 'He can expect anything he likes, it won't happen. He'll have to pick some other entertainment. I don't talk to anyone.'

'You do, if it's Gonzales that calls you,' Fernandez exclaimed.

'Look, I don't care if it's the warden himself that calls me, I don't talk to anyone,' Tony snapped, irritated. 'I can think of a hundred other ways of killing time than by chatting to illiterate thugs.' He put his head deep inside the bin, resuming his scrubbing.

'You don't quite understand, Almeida. Everyone goes to Gonzales if he calls them. Someone will kill you if you don't.'

'Someone is welcome to try,' Tony snapped, enraged. 'You might tell him to send five men if he wants any of them to get near me! Now leave me the hell alone.'

'You a military man?' Fernandez inquired.

'Sí,' Tony replied, resuming his scrubbing.

'And now you scrub trash cans.' The observation was made quietly, but it served to enrage him further. 'You don't learn respect for Gonzales; you'll end up buried in one too.'

'I told you to leave me alone,' he snarled, picking up a handful of rubbish and hauling it at the startled Fernandez.

'Almeida, you're gonna die,' hissed Fernandez, staring at his shirt in disgust. 'I'll kill you myself.'

'I'm terrified. Just leave me alone, idiot.'

'What did you call me?' cried Fernandez, furiously. He turned his hose full blast on Tony. 'I heard all about you. You're a bloody traitor, a federal agent gone over to some terrorista. You're worse than they are.'

Tony glared at him, unable to speak in his rage.

'Aguas,' he exclaimed suddenly and they both turned their hoses into their bins as the kitchen door opened and the supervisor stepped out. He stared at both of them in silence, gazing at the water on the ground and their soaked clothes.

'Against the wall, the pair of you!' he ordered, and they turned off their hoses and leaned against the wall. He examined the trash can Tony cleaned in silence. 'Alright, you spics, listen up. One clean can in fifty minutes isn't good enough – you're going to have to move it. I expect everything to be finished by 4:00 this afternoon or you'll be getting a D-report.'

'What's the deal about 4:00?' Tony inquired, too enraged at being insulted to care what happened anymore. 'Is the health inspector coming to check this dump? He won't be real impressed with your standard of hygiene. Hell, you might even end up fired!'

The supervisor took a step closer to him. 'Name, convict,' he demanded, pulling out a notebook.

Tony remained silent, taking a couple of deep breaths. There goes your visit, Almeida! You just don't learn, do you? I'm so sorry, mom, I know you would've come – I wanted to see you so badly, so very badly…

The supervisor took a step closer to him. 'I certainly won't ask a second time, convict,' he warned. 'Tell me now, or face a month in the SHU.'

Tony gazed at his wet shoes, remembering the SHU, knowing he could not face it a second time. Slowly he opened his mouth, raising his eyes to meet the supervisor's.

'His name's Fernandez, the bastard,' Fernandez said, startling Tony, who only barely managed to pull an impassive mask onto his face. He glanced at the Mexican, who shook his head rapidly.

'Ok, Fernandez, you got yourself a D-report. Reduced rations for three days and of course, no visit this month. Now listen up, the pair of you. All these garbage cans better shine by the time I inspect this yard at 4:00.' He left, returning through the kitchen door.

'Why?' Tony glanced at the Mexican who had returned to the trash can. 'You just called me a traitor.'

'You just called me illiterate,' said the man, leaning into his bin. 'You're wrong there, you know.'

Tony gazed at the filthy ground, feeling his face grow hot. 'I'm sorry, ok. I just don't like being bothered. I got enough trouble as it is.' He fell silent, watching the man working beside him. 'Why?' he asked again. 'You just lost a visit.'

Fernandez laughed aloud. 'You real sure about that? Hell, I've been here four years already, and I've yet to get a single visit! You enjoy yours, while you still got someone who cares enough to come see you.' He turned away bitterly.

'I won't …' Tony paused, chewing his tongue, almost having given away his secret desire to escape again.

Fernandez looked up at him interested. 'We all heard you got outside the Maximum Security place near LA,' he said. 'Not many get to do that. Gonzales wants to talk to you about it.'

Tony bit his lip, resisting the urge to run a hand along his face. Why is everyone so impressed? I failed! I didn't get anywhere. Why do they keep reminding me, when I'm trying so hard to forget? "You try anything like this again, Almeida, you'll fry! Read it for yourself."

He resumed scrubbing the trash can, working silently and methodically, allowing his thoughts to wander. Today was a Monday, which meant that his father was at work in the office, and his mother would vacuum the entire house, and she would pick little Sandy up from school and they'd go shopping together. Whoever was in LA at the moment would have dinner with them that evening. He didn't permit himself any thoughts about food, concentrating instead on the cheerful atmosphere after the dinner would be eaten, when everyone would chat about their previous week and their plans for the coming week. He swallowed his unshed tears, scrubbing the next can vigorously. Monday's were always extra difficult to spend in prison – he failed to keep himself from picturing his entire family together.

Only of course they would never be together again. He was stuck here, and Bobby was resting. He allowed water from the hose to squirt into his face, unable to hold back a few tears. It should've been me, not him. My life is over, his was just getting started.

'You'll never finish that on time. Want to roll a can over? I'm done here,' he told Fernandez, who still had three untouched cans in his pile.

'Thanks, Almeida.' Another can was rolled noisily across the yard, and Tony cleaned it rapidly, without permitting himself to concentrate too heavily on his task. They finished a few minutes before 4:00, sitting in the shade by the wall, wet, filthy and exhausted. He leaned against it, allowing his eyes to close, an ear open for any movement, the way he had rested on patrols in the desert. He heard people moving about inside the kitchen preparing another meal, a group of convicts out in a distant yard, a couple of guards swearing at a prisoner they were obviously taking somewhere. Another sound interrupted the normal prison noise, something completely foreign to the harsh environment, a bird chirping. Tony opened his eyes, shading them with his hands, turning to the precise location the sound had come from, seeing a small grey bird perched on top of the kitchen roof.

He saw his mother carrying a chopping board out into the garden during a Chicago winter with pieces of bread and meat. "Throw it to the birds, Tony. Its real cold and they're hungry. Look, throw that piece to the crow over there, so then these little ones get to eat too."

He sighed heavily, feeling the familiar gnawing pain in his stomach, remembering that he had missed lunch yet again. 'Come on, tomorrow, hurry up. Please come mom, I want to see you real bad.'