Carl Jenkins is finally getting paroled!
Carl Jenkins served eight years of a twelve-year stretch
before the impossible happened: He is granted his freedom. Parole! The
impossible is unfolding right before his eyes!
Freedom.
But what does that mean? To Carl, it means he'll finally
have the chance of a lifetime, to pursue the woman of his dreams. The woman who
saved his miserable life when he would have ended it was it not for a perfumed
letter and its timely arrival.
In less than an hour, he'll be on a bus heading to Berrien.
With a measly fifty dollars and a pocket full of dreams.
INTERVIEWER: Hey, Carl. Thanks so much for taking a few
minutes to, uh, well, spill your guts. I'd like to say I'm happy you're finally
going to be allowed on the streets again, but that would be a lie. I mean,
like, now we'll have to lock our windows and hide our daughters, right? So, my
first question is: when did you start window-peeking at innocent girls without
their knowledge? What's the big turn-on in doing something so twisted?
CARL:
Let's see. I probably should break your wrists for that, but
then you wouldn't be able to write the answers to my interview. And for some
fucked-up reason I want people to know why I am the way I am, ya know? It's my
mother. Laughter. It's always the
mother, right? Well, my mother was a cunt. She drank with any man in blue jeans,
or without 'em for that matter. Most days after school she'd be sitting at the
table shit-faced, saggy tits hanging out, lips swollen where she'd been smoozing
up to some John. The soured stench of the place was enough to burn my eyes.
Turned my stomach, ya know?
INTERVIEWER: Yeah, but was that an excuse to sneak around
backyards, creep between hedges, and peek inside bedroom windows?
CARL: It didn't start like that. There was this girl I liked
who lived just down the block from my place. Hair as shiny as gold, skin like
silk. And a dimple. Cutest thing you'd ever see. When there's no reason to
smile at home, you don't see dimples. She was beautiful. Bold as brass. Caught
me hunched down outside her window that first time. She raised the damned thing
and pulled me in! Right fucking inside! What can I say? I fell in love.
Course, she wouldn't be seen in public with me. So we had to
sneak. I'd climb in after dark and we'd hang out. Mostly kissing and stuff. Till
she got pissy. So I showed her. After that, it was like, I craved watching normal, everyday life. Chicks in pajamas, hair wet from a shower. Life, ya know? I'd be drawn in by soft
lights, rooms with flowery prints on the walls, and innocence etched on their
unsuspecting faces.
INTERVIEWER: You crossed the line, though. You did more than a peek into their rooms. You climbed into their lives forever. The detective, Tom
Harrington. Tell me about him.
CARL: That dick. He's the reason it took so long to smell the air. It was his sister that got me busted. Dopey, pathetic thing. Not that she
wasn't pretty. She was. And it was only one night. Still, he's been sitting
front and center at every parole hearing doing his damnedest to keep me locked
up. I guarantee he won't stop until he sees me back in the joint!
The cell door squeaks open and the security guard jangles a
handful of keys. "Time's up. Jenkins, your ride's here. Less you want your
old room back." Sweat glistens on top of the guy's bald head as he walks
the door wide and nods. "Move it. I got others waiting to be processed
out."
Carl glances over and shrugs. "Looks like our little
chat's over. Don't worry. I gotta feeling you ain't heard the last from
me." He picked up a plastic bag filled with his personal effects. "If
you're anywhere near Berrien, check out the Glass Plate Diner. I hear they got
delicious pies and a sweet little waitress. I'm heading there now."
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