comparable likes of an ugly Christmas sweater or a fruit cake.

In reality, a lot of the men the women write here don't write back more than a few letters. I suppose the excitement that comes with writing a woman in prison quickly wanes after having to put pen to paper and letters in a mailbox. I also can’t imagine most men who are actually desirable are so desperate for companionship they’ll go to the extent of committing their time to waiting for someone to get paroled, regardless looks.
Stamps aren’t exactly cheap anymore either.

Is my “being in prison, that is” the present 'proclivity' of mine you meant specifically in your last letter, Just to be clear? Also, just so you know, if it’s all the same to you; whatever that turn of phrase means, I'd rather focus on trying not to think about my own issues while also considering your own: Predominate mammary glands specifically, even if it is only mentioned. They aren't exactly the most attractive feature on a man to serve as a distraction from what surrounds me.

You may want to do a set or twelve of push ups a day for a couple weeks, and follow it up with some rigorous cardio, Tighten up those muscles while burning away the marbling of fat that exists above.

I’m also not quite sure what you mean when you

reference a Mediterranean diet? Like hummus, pesto and flat bread? Or is that middle eastern? Which one is antipasto? Or is it Antipesto?

Life on the inside is kind of a mix of busy and boring, incase you didn’t already know or have forgotten since I’m sure I’ve already told you. So probably a lot like the military without the guns or steady paycheck. Everything is pretty much scheduled, moment to scheduled moment, so it doesn’t really change, which is boring, but it keeps me occupied enough. Life for those of us that stay out of trouble isn't as rough on the nerves as it is... Well, it certainly doesn't feel like the 'insurmountable trauma' you mention. Though I probably won't know for sure as the years ahead I’ll require to figuratively ‘patch it up’ have not yet been borne down upon me. Still being in prison and all.

For the time being though, it isn’t that bad. I’m pretty used to things at this point. I don’t really spend a lot of time thinking on the time, until, you know… someone mentions it directly. Like- you know… in letters… like yours. In which case… regardless that, all I really have to do is concentrate on the work in front of me and make that my ultimate concern.

And just so you know, there is a drug that makes concern for time melt away, it's called ‘Crystal.’ Or Adderall, in big Pharma’s case.  And it would seem to me ‘allergies’ are the affects people feel when foods act like

drugs. But, don’t quote me, I’m not a doctor. Of medicine anyway.

So you think the racoon is your spirit animal? I think if I were to base my spirit animal on the sorts of animals that present themselves into my life, which is one way I’ve heard is used to determine them, it's probably the cockroach. As undesirable as that is, but then again, maybe that speaks to people such as I being a part of that 'undesirable contingent of individuals' as you put it. Undesirable because I'm in prison, right?

Just so you know, freedom isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I would know. I was free once. And I certainly didn’t do a whole lot of good with it, what with the whole getting caught breaking the law thing. Still, I venture to imagine a lot of that holds true for most Americans also.

 I must say though, all of your artwork that is representative of different artworks out in the world and your relating information about them has me at odds with my previous general lack of interest in art. Perhaps that's a byproduct of having no real outside stimulus of any measurable value here. And art generally being for pretentious, rich people.

Your suggestion I join a work crew to go see the works was quite the inspired idea. Too bad Troy’s ‘communal outreach’ is nowhere near the nation's capitol.

It seems to me there’s something faux pas about crews of women picking up trash on the side of the road or shoveling snow anyway. You can let men have those jobs as far as I am concerned. I also imagine the prospect of getting kidnapped off the shoulder for sex work or torture games isn’t quite as risky for them, at least as it pertains to Virginia proper anyhow. Who knows what happens when you cross over into West Virginia? Probably the sorts of things Thomas Harris writes abou happening in Virginia and Maryland.

Anyway I’d like to see the so called Netherlands Bell tower and Dark Star Park, knowing they are in my direct proximity. Maybe when I get out, but not a snowballs chance I’ll be seeing them under said snow, but thanks for bringing them to my attention.

Oh, I almost forgot, regardless my writing telling Vanity Fair I'm writing from prison, I still hold out hope I’ll see a response somewhere amidst the ads and the occasional perfume sampler the guards miss gutting from the spine.




Bianca's Eighth Letter
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Why Hello Brian!

Yes it had been some time since you had written. I must say, it’s feels good to ‘rest assured’ you haven't been ignoring me. While I can’t say I wondered for too long what was causing the prolonged silence; figuring it entirely possible you may have proved the platitude and been one of those unlucky individuals whose lives were actually cut short by a bus while getting the mail, I can say-while it is ‘generally’ a joy to receive your letters- the real joy I always feel and that you help facilitate is the feeling I get the moment any mail arrives. It’s a lot like seeing Christmas presents under the tree as a child, except as an adult the decorative paper responsible for building up a month’s worth of wonder from untold potential is traded for...

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