I can tell my own story of how it was, and then the laugh's on me
SO THE GUY'S in this cell and there's soda-pop cans on the concrete floor. The bare John is over next to the wall. The guy's T-shirt is kinda crummy, but his hair is combed. He's nervous. He's calling me "sir," and I'm just in clean jeans and an open-necked shirt. The other caller with me--Bill--is sitting on the bed with the recovering drunk, and I'm squatting against the wall and my legs are getting cramped, so I slip to the floor and sit up against the wall.
This drunk's eyes show he's hurting, hurting bad, and I want to put my arm around him and tell him it's all right. But I...
-- S. M.