Day After. It is now Thursday here, and the day after the threats of facial reconstruction.

Around 10:45 PM last night the gangster came up to me while I was mixing up a late night snack and held out his fist to me, saying he apologized, that he might have gone off the deep end, and he was sorry.

The idea of the outstretched fist is that I am then supposed to make a similar fist and we touch them together.

I did that.

The question that I have, and which I did not ask, was what exactly was he apologizing for? Throwing my bedding on the floor, stealing my empty soda cans, losing my State-issued winter coat, or the fact that he had called me a whole bunch of obscene words and threatened to heat me to a bloody pulp in front of twenty or so other inmates?

But as I said I did not ask the question because I am dealing with an unstable pharmacological pill popping individual. The point is he should be apologizing to all the inmates that watched while I physically stepped away from the fight he was itching for.

While those of you in the free world might find that an admirable trait, in a prison it is like painting a sign on one's forehead that says "Hit Me! I won't fight back."

While I am sure he meant the apology when he said it, I do not have any faith in the words, except that much like the terror codes used by the Homeland Security, we are now lowering the threat level a couple of colors.  ¶ 7:47 AM