All Stories, General Fiction

Prison food by Dan Brotzel

He had a long chunk of writing tattooed on his skin. It looked like Greek or Chinese or something. He said it was ‘so I never forget’.

‘But it’s over your shoulder,’ I blurted. His shoulder was massive, like a pig carcass.

He looked at me like he wanted to kill me. ‘It’s back to front so I can read it in a mirror,’ he said at last. I never found out what the words meant. But he taught me lots of other things.

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