A Quiet Monday Night. Hey, I forgot I had started this letter to you. Saturday night's movie, "Friday Night Lights", was not much better than a high school football flick with Billy Bob Thornton. "Remember the Titans" it was not. It was like watching a music video: a new scene or camera angle every ten seconds; no character development and a very shallow plot.

It is 5:25 PM count time now.

So I got your latest letter today. As you know, I got your other letter last week and I presume your next letter will show up tomorrow unless it is returned to you. I did send a note to the local postmaster to change my address, but I am not sure how successful that will be.

I am now sitting at one of three tables that us hundred or so inmates share. Either this or write on my knees while sitting on my bed.

Maybe this will be neater. Fuck the "!"; today is not a good day to deal with any weighty subjects.

Hopefully by now you have gotten my previous letters on TB. I am not now nor have I ever been contagious in terms of TB, nor would I have ever subjected you or anyone else to exposure to a contagious disease. The positive TB test simply says I was exposed to it, and unless my immune system is otherwise impacted (like from AIDS) I will not ever develop the disease, and the six months of drugs I took way back in 1998 further makes the development unlikely.

Neither you nor I are guaranteed anything more than the here and now. I think I have mentioned the recent country tune about live each day like you are dying. So while at some point in the future we might have that anchovy pizza, maybe a ski trip or two, or at best build a company that really does make a difference in the world, living for that day in not an option for me. By that I mean that if that is what I do here, in prison, I would certainly die emotionally and maybe even physically.

Damn, even the paper does not want to tear properly right now. As I sit here writing, two guys are busy miming the rap tunes on their Walkmans (yes, we can have tapes, but they must be factory sealed) and a third guy is sitting here rolling out cigarettes from a can of tobacco and rolling gapers.

This is not meant to be a guilt letter and as of these last few sentences I am going to crawl back into my bunk and read for the rest of the night. I just wanted to confirm the receipt of your letter and I will write more tomorrow.

Do not worry about sending any books just yet. I am only allowed twenty-five in total and I need to be sure the ten you sent me at Downstate are not counted. So I will let you know when to send more.  ¶ 10:27 PM