Saturday, January 21, 2017


Sometimes I sit and watch the guys around me.  Prison does crazy things to dudes.  More severe cases are called institutionalized.  Those are men that once released don't stand a chance.  Freedom literally scares them and they will re-offend, just to come back to the life they know here.  A bed every night and three meals a day.

There are others that just develop crazy quirks.  Misfires if you will.  Don't laugh at an institutionalized man because if you do you should be ashamed.  Like poking fun at a mentally challenged person--you're just being an asshole yourself.

Men with weird unexplainable actions are interesting to observe.  Almost as good as a paid safari to watch a lion take down a wildebeest.

I would be a liar if I said this place hasn't affected me too.  My shoes are military precision paired and placed under my bed.  As soon as I wake up, before I even leave, my bed is made military style. Hospital corners and 6-inch cuff.  I slide it over to one side of the bunk so I don't sit on it and mess it up.  I'm not crazy.  That's so I'm inspection ready at any time.  If an officer has to stop and tell me to make my bunk, I'm dead wrong.  This means that instead of walking past, he's now lingering at my pad.  This means next I'm subject to a shake down, which I don't ever need.

I leave things matched and paired and slide to the edge of my bed.  This alerts me to anyone messing with my shit.  You have to do that here.  Maybe someone wants me gone and out their way, so they slide a shank or a cell phone under my mat or bunk.  They tip the cops off and I go in for something that wasn't ever mine.  I shake myself down every day just to make sure no one sets me up for the fall.

I lock my cup and bowl in my locker.  Never leave it out.  Someone could come put some bleach or Ajax in something to make you sick.  A few drops of simple Visine will give you the explosive diarrhea for two days.  These guys play dirty.  This is my life.

The cops play a hard game as well as the inmates.  Cops will lie on you to get you in trouble.  Maybe they know you're up to no good but can't ever catch you.  They put phones, dope and knives on dudes as well.  Then come shake you down.  You really have to stay in your own lane here.

So the silly shit I do and have become anal about is stuff to save my ass, if not my life.  Someone else probably watches me though...shaking down my shit...laid under my bunk like a mechanic doing an oil change and thinks..."what the hell is he on?".  One day I will no doubt drive a woman nuts if I can't shake this place.  I can.  I will.

Back here we just mess with each other.  I'm reading a book right  now.  I wondered why I kept reading this same page every time I opened the freaking thing.  Then realized my Bunkie keeps sticking my bookmark at page 85.  Thanks asshole.  But--these are the things you need to keep you sane.

My Bunkie has been doing time with me for five years.  He was at my last prison too.  He ran over someone with his car while on spring break in Panama City.  He was a college student at Florida State.  He killed the person.  He's doing twenty years.  That's my best friend.

The man who gets all the good books sent in that I read sleeps next to us in another bunkbed.  He likes motorcycles and we're going to ride to Sturgis for a bike week once I'm out.  He leaves six months before me.  He's been in for 18 1/2 years.  He did home invasions and assaulted a policeman. They gave him 25 years.

I've met some good people here.  They were not when they came in, neither was I.  Some just made a bad mistake.  One man comes here and changes to become a good person.  Another comes here and will leave a greater menace than he came.  A friend of mine states to always move forward....I like that.  Never forget where you've been and the journey you took to become who you are.

Before long this will become a fading memory.

Wednesday, January 11, 2017


Prisoners begin their journey at a reception center.  Upon arriving you begin a  number of evaluations.  Where you are regarding your level of education.  Do you have any previous medical history?  Are you sane?  Do you have prior gang history?  A file is created for you.  This becomes your jacket and will follow you your entire stay in the Department of Corrections.  Every time you get into trouble, go to confinement or fail a G.E.D test, it's logged in your file.  When you transfer from prison to prison your file moves with you.

You have probably seen someone charged, on the stand, who is found mentally unable to stand trial. Others are tried and convicted but as soon as they're evaluated here, they are declared psychiatric patients and begin medication.  There are special prisons for those special folks where they can receive the "care" they need.

D.O.C. is similar to the army.  They have officers, Sergeants, Colonels and Majors.  As you climb the ladder, so does  your pay.  Some hire on and don't want the headache created with higher status. Others strive to climb that ladder.  We call them "G.I. Joes".

Another way for an officer to up their pay is when they are in high-security situations.  There are certain pay increases when you place yourself in high-risk situations with high-rick inmates.

I'm not certain what the D.O.C. is attempting but they are closing down some of the psychiatric facilities and placing those inmates into general population at lower security prisons.  One logical explanation is the pay rate would then be adjusted for officers in those situations.  The downfall is that now you have very unpredictable inmates living among everyone.

I have done my time by staying in my own lane.  Staying out of others way.  Finding the path of least resistance.  We are creatures of habit, so once you see the general movement...just carve out your little nest and go with the flow.  You can't do that when the playing field is unstable.

Unstable brains make unstable scenarios.  So now there's a new thing to be aware of.  These guys don't need a reason to stab you.  They wake up and the voices tell them what to do.  Stare in their direction too long and their mind sees you as a threat.  They sit at a table and stick their leg into the aisle.  The first dude who comes along and accidentally brushes them gets assaulted.  And you're supposed to look ahead and see all this shit.  It's a lot to have on your plate.  Especially for these young men who just came in.  They don't see all I've explained to you.  The view I have has come from years of dealing with this place.  You don't learn this stuff overnight.

So our lives have become a high-risk situation.  You already live in an unpredictable world where the staff make all the rules.  You are guilty until proven innocent.  I'm sure you have woke up and the kids are throwing a fit.  You can't find an outfit to wear.  You and your partner have words that leave your spirit troubled.  Finally, you're out the door with a hundred problems on your mind.  Unable to properly focus you don't see the traffic light is red.  You drive into the intersection, a horn honks, and suddenly a car screeches to a halt only inches from your door.  It's OK... your safe.

Now picture a 200 pound naked man chasing you with an ice poker because the demons told him to kill you.  This life is full of land mines...waiting for you to activate the trigger.

And some days I feel I navigate the mines in here as well as the ones out there.

Thankfully it's not much longer now.

Monday, January 9, 2017


Prison is one crazy wild ride.  There was a time when stuff made me do a double take.  I find lately my feelings have dulled to a reality that's far from normal.

While working out the other day I looked around me and for some reason noticed the events occurring around me.  I was doing push-ups by the softball team dugout.  I looked at the bleacher area and two men sat facing each other giving hand-jobs.  I looked the other way...only to find those bleachers had the spectator section for this pocket pool tournament.

Not wanting to be distracted I cut across the yard to the soccer field.  Not that I find penis distracting, just the entire scenario was straight out of an adult film and I wasn't interested.

I continued with my work out and before long saw the yard officer approach 3 inmates sitting on the edge of the goal line.  The officer began to shake them down and took 2 water bottles full of home brewed wine.  The brewery consists of the ingredients being placed in gallon jugs and buried under the ground.  Wine burps while fermenting and if made indoors the officers will smell it and confiscate it.    When buried outdoors the risk is less, plus its then in a "common area" and nobody can be charged.

Well, except for these geniuses.

They were drinking on top of the mother lode.  After the officer saw the wine in the bottles he then began to search the surrounding area.  Soon after he dug up the entire 5 gallons, thus closing down A.B.C. liquor.  Never to worry, they'll plant more tomorrow.  Still, there's something going on everywhere you turn.

A few months back they quit running canteen from the rec field.  Men would go to canteen, buy groceries, and have to return to the rec field with their purchases.  A crew of dudes would jump them. One puts you in a choke hold until you black out, then they steal your stuff.  They break it up between 5 or 6 dudes so even if buddy goes to the cops, they'll never recover his shit.

Now you go to rec, or you stay in the dorm and go to canteen.  Many dudes won't even step onto the rec field because they are already being hunted.  There may be cameras in the dorm but they don't have them on the rec field.  Thus the yard is where dudes go to handle their business.  You know...drink, get a hand-job and do some pull-ups.

I work out.  Five days a week.  When I leave prison my health is all I'll walk away with.  It matters to me that I have a body than can last and carry me where I need to go.  And...I'm not going to let some little group of punks take my shit.  I carry a saying..."you may beat me.  But I'll teach you not to do it again."

Ha!  My mom makes wine.  Yeah, she bought a home brewery kit.  Except she doesn't have to bury it. On top of making wine she also types this stuff.  Then my Aunt posts it.  It's a family affair.  If I take all of you through a day in my life, my Mom and Aunt come with us as well.  Sorry guys for bringing you along today.  Still...I think you need to understand all this.

Friday, December 30, 2016


Perhaps you've seen the TV  drama Orange is the New Black?  Some of my family watch it to get a better idea of what my world is like on this side of the fence.  In your world you punch a guy over an argument and chances are it was captured on someone's cell phone camera.  The police are called and you likely catch an assault charge.

Where I live, someone turns a straightened piece of fence into an ice-poker.   They sharpen the end on a piece of concrete until it's a fine point.  Then they wait until you're asleep, sit on you chest and drive that metal over and over into your gut until they are pulled off you by either the police or another inmate.  They are then cuffed and taken to confinement.  Chances are they will get 30 days in the box. Usually they transfer one of the dudes out.  Other times they don't care and release both back to the compound.

My first prison was called Gulf CI.  It has a reputation just as bad as Florida State Penitentiary.  The day my bus arrived at the Gulf the guard informed us that when we stepped off there would be two lines.  One line would take you back to the compound.  The other would be for check-ins.  "Check-ins" are inmates who are in fear for their life and are scared to be in general population.  Both lines began to fill.  I chose the compound.

Prison is full of these choices every day.  You may be headed to chow and see three dudes creeping along the side of the line.  Each one has a hand inside his pant leg.  That concealed hand holds a lock in a sock, a razor melted into a toothbrush handle, or an icepick.  You learn to watch the road in here.

Out there you wait for the light to turn green, check the intersection, then proceed.  In here, we look for the dudes going against the main flow.  It may be the man bent over tying his shoe.  He stopped so he can fall back  and let the man he's supposed to attack begin to pass him.  Then  he quickly stands up and jumps behind the man while slicing his throat.  You learn to watch for the thing that doesn't make sense.

We have a saying here..."like a cat".  Meaning to stay on point with cat like senses at all times.  When you see your buddy with his head down you reach out and smack him in the nuts.  The idea is to keep your friends on point so they don't get slit.

When your buddy runs to chow and leaves his radio on his bunk or his locker unlocked, you go take his radio and clean out his locker.  When he comes back you let him think all his shit was stolen. After he trips for a minute you give him his shit back.  Again...the idea is to condition him for the real thing.

You leave your car unlocked out there, or your home, chances are they'll be ok when you get back.  In here?  That's not the case.  Everyone in here is criminal minded.  They look for the angle.  Like a con-man.  They see targets.

You go to canteen and come back with a full bag.  Everyone sees that.  They now know your house is full of goodies.  So then they watch you.  It may take a couple days, but they wait for you to slip.

You grab your toilet paper and head to take a shit.  When you get back to your locker, it's been cleaned out.

You go take a shower.  Leave your radio on the bunk and in that 10 minutes you were gone, so is your radio.

Blessings don't wait around the corner for you in here.  An evil man does.  Waiting to harm you.

Welcome to my life!!!

I may have thought I was tough before prison...that notion makes me laugh now.

After 8 years in here these walls have changed me.  I see every angle.  Anything out of place could be a trap.  It fucks with my head.  This place has tried to take everything good away from me.

I get on the phone and put on another face for my family.  You don't want them to see this.

But, in the end, the house sometimes wins.  It causes me to be too hard to the people who love me.  I have to back pedal almost daily.

Sometimes my life here carries out to my people.  It's hard to live this life when you get your head out there on the free side of the fence.

Prison gets worse and worse.  Watch the news.  Where do you think all those bad people go?  They come be my Bunkie.  They stand in the line beside me at chow.  They work out by me on the rec field.

Please stop to consider this if you have a loved one incarcerated.  This isn't a TV show.  Nobody walks off the set here at 5 PM.

We get to stay right here with all the demons that lurk in the night.

Monday, December 12, 2016

Happy Hollidays

 "I've fallen and I can't get up" is something I hope to never say.  I have established myself as a solid, upright business man even among a world of greedy bastards.  My entire time in prison I have made my way.  I learned how to tread lightly around both guards and inmates.  I have been solid in every arrangement and people understand they can rely on me.  I went from an all-out crack head to being that dude.  My word is can put it in the bank.  I can give you my word, dap your fist and you can walk away knowing it's as good as done.

Your word and what you do are all you have in prison.  Doing someone wrong in here could lead to you trying to digest two feet of iron through your stomach.

I find myself begging my daughter to please answer me when I call.  Please take and hang with me for 15 minutes.  Seriously, I literally beg her to chill with me.  So, I think somewhere along the line she thinks her daddy is some soft push-over.  My motto here is..."If I know you I fuck with you.  If I don't know you, then fuck you."  But my daughter doesn't see that.  She sees her dad bugging her for her time.  I probably annoy her more than anything.  This is funny.

I watch these gangsters in here.  I watch them beat people up.  Fight and all that other stuff.  But you better never talk about their Momma or their kids.  Even the nastiest dude still has a Mom and his little girl will bring out his soft side.

I'm getting ready to call it quits and go home.  This is nearly over for me.  And...I'm blessed my daughter sees none of this and I'm still a dork that bugs her.

My mom and sisters talk to me about their jobs, their men, and their a-hole boss.  I hear about their children, their bills and I'm just a big brother.  My mom simply sees her oldest son.  I call my daughter's mother and we laugh about the kids.  I hear about what's for dinner and sometimes, just sometimes, I forget that I am a convicted felon serving 12 years in prison.

Sometimes it slips my mind that I broke all the rules and at one time actually wanted to be the baddest kid on the block.  Today I probably am one of the biggest dogs on the street but that doesn't matter no more.  I'm just a dorky Dad and somebody's big brother.

Happy Holidays.  Don't give up on the people you love.   Time changes things.

Tuesday, November 15, 2016


Hello November!
Could be just another month, but not for me.  November is the month I was born.  And, ironically, it is the month I'll be just two more years.  It's a chance to be reborn a free man.  The second time I will make my way into the world.

Eight years ago I was doing a hundred in a fifty-five zone.  I woke up, crushed two oxycodone on my dresser and snorted them with a twenty dollar bill.  I  then slid two more into my pocket and kissed the stripper, naked in my bed, goodbye.  I walked out the door for court not realizing it would be the last time I saw freedom for 10 years.

I stood in court on a probation violation and when the judge sentenced me to 12 years in the Department of Corrections, I said "OH SHIT!"

I quickly reached into my pocket and retrieved the last two pills I had stashed.  Having just enough time to swallow them before the officers cuffed me and led me out of the courtroom.

Looking back now, I see how fast I was going.  Speeding down the highway-to-hell.  When you come to prison you're angry.  You reflect!  Looking back and wishing I would have taken their offer.  Had I not come to prison, I would probable be dead!    So sitting here today I realize this place saved my life.

Shamefully, I probably wouldn't be the Dad to my little girl I have had the chance now to become.  I was a self-centered drug addict.

Safe to say,  I'm no longer angry.  Nor am I a drug addict or a dead-beat Dad.  I called my little girl the other day and was going through an emotional time.  I really needed her and when she answered, I asked her, "Taylor...who's your daddy?"  She comes off with some slick shit about how it's up in the air.  Could it be the milkman or the mailman...

I stopped her there and said, "Tell me it's me Taylor!"  So, she slowed down and said, "You're my father."  She's such a boob.  And she's totally my kid all day.  I would have said the same answer she did and it made me laugh.

What she didn't know is my friend Kimmy overdosed shortly after I came to prison.  Kimmy left behind a young daughter.  A young daughter who, at 20 years old, overdosed last month...just like her momma did.  And I had just received that news.

So I look back today, in this month of November:  Eight years ago all I could think about was taking those last two pills before I went to a prison cell.  Today, all I care about is that my little girl knows I am her dad and that I love her.

This is also the month of Thanksgiving.  I'm thankful to be free.  I am still behind this fence but you can't kill my spirit.  My spirit is free and my little girl carries it with her.

Taylor, you are my inspiration.  I quit smoking cigarettes so I could tell you never to smoke  and I  wouldn't be a hypocrite.  Every forward step I take is so you can watch me and see what you can do.
You can do anything you set your mind to.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all!!!!

Saturday, October 29, 2016


Screw the bees that sting.  Try some Benadryl.  I'm not leaving some sad song up any longer, it's time for some fresh ear-wax!

I've done some patchwork on the "Trump" wall in my life, and it's standing tall once again.  Seems the cart gets in front of the horse at times and I don't know why.  I sweat what comes next.   The point is--I'll be free!  What comes after that?

Who knows, who cares.  It's the adventure called life.  Sometimes us people worry too much about planning the thing, then forget to enjoy the experience.

I remember the weeks leading up to my wedding to my ex.  We wanted to cancel the wedding and kill each other.  Instead we got married, then tried to kill each other.  It's the details and all the planning that stresses you out so bad.  Your half through your vacation before you finally relax.

So, no more weddings and no more stressing.  Two years down the road, I'm just showing up, then finding out what happens.

That's difficult being in prison.  You want desperately to reach out and find something beautiful too grasp onto.  Some sort of hope.  A light.  A beacon that can guide you through this tough time.  So I'm reading my Bible a lot more these days.  I'm actually doing a devotional every morning.

Perhaps you find yourself up against some obstacle that is nearly crushing you.  We've all been there. Maybe the person you have always leaned on is the very thing that leaves you troubled.

Sometimes two people get so much on their own plate, there is nothing left to give the other!  Did I just describe 80% of relationships?

You could try a morning devotion.  Try something!  Happiness is priceless!!

Don't just stand there and get stung by the bees.  That's a dumb thing to do.

Thursday, October 13, 2016


I remember being a boy in northern Michigan.  We had these massive bee-hives that hung from tree branches and abandoned buildings.  The bees  that made these paper nests were called bald-faced hornets.

I'd say they pack the same punch as a rattle-snake, you just catch a lower dose.  Their sting will literally paralyze you and they will chase  you for miles.  Our stupid asses would throw rocks at them and then run like hell.  They always got you, and it felt like someone jabbed a dart into your skin. Then came the burning site sensation that would swell, fester and last for hours.

That boy grew into a man.  I chuckle to think back at that silly boy, then realize us adults still do the same dumb shit.  I still throw some rocks then run like hell.  The sting we feel hurts more and lasts longer than the bees ever did.

That boy never stopped to consider that was the bee's home.  They were just in there, chillin', doin' what bees do.  We came along and knocked their happy  homestead on the ground.  No wonder they got so upset.  The boys grew into men and still forgot to consider what happens when you fire shots at unsuspecting targets.

I'm not talking about bees anymore.  I refer to lives and feelings and someone's heart.  I married a woman when I was 19.  When we divorced eight years later, she told me that one day she hoped someone would come along and crush me the way I did her!  I've managed to avoid that because I've installed a "Trump" size wall around my heart.  I've always been the one throwing rocks, and never had anyone get inside enough to knock down my happy place.

I've been doing this prison thing for eight years.  This place starts to get under your skin.

If you use the same washer at the laundromat every week on Tuesday and one day you come in and someone else is using that washer, what happens?   What about that parking space you like so much in front of your job?  You park there every day but today someone else parked there.  One person just moves to the next washer, or just uses another parking spot.  But that likely affects yet another person.

What if you parked in that spot for eight years?  What if you used that washer on the same day for 8 years?  It's not your washer anymore than it's your parking spot.  We somehow get all in our emotions over this shit.  I use this reference because I'm trying to ask you to understand my mind.

Lately I have been asking a woman to understand.  I don't think she does.  It frustrates me and even more so, when I had to realize I let someone scale the "Trump" wall.  Instead of simply walking away like I usually do, or run, for that matter,  I;m just standing here and the bees are coming and the sting hurts like hell.

I feel a loss of direction.  What's up?  What's down?  It's a lot to sort out.  Someone has been here for a long time and now they're leaving.  I've been sleeping in the same house for eight years, ten when I am done and then I'm moving back to someones else's house.  It's unfair for me to ask people to sit around and wait for me to see the end picture.  My end zone comes into play in two years.  I can't call that two years from now any more than I can call it today.

To any woman who ever wished some dude would one day feel their pain, don't worry---he will!!
Somewhere, someplace, sometime.

Once  upon a time there was a boy without a care in the world.  Throwing rocks at a beehive.......

Wednesday, September 14, 2016


The rotation of earth with the moon creates the tides. The tides change as water rushes out to sea. There, the process is reversed and you experience the high-tide as once again the water rushes back in. Thus creating the circle of life.

The laws I've  broken over a decade ago set things into motion that would change the man I am today.  If time indeed heals the broken heart, I pray it can bring peace to the people I have hurt in my life.

They sentence people to prison in an attempt to remove them from society and punish them.  Hoping that in the end if the punishment fits the crime, the offense will not be repeated.   There are other things that consequently can happen to that person as well. Things that make silly boys into hard men.

If you ask a prisoner what their biggest dream is, nine times out of ten, they will tell you freedom. Freedom for me is:  sitting with my family together at a Thanksgiving meal, taking my daughter to a concert, watching my nieces and nephews play in the yard while the adults grill out, or blasting down the road on my Harley.

Being free once again consumes me.  I feel like the benched player that raises his hand to the coach, begging to be put in the game.

I have trained my mind that I am no longer an addict.  I have worked out five days a week for nearly a decade to stay in shape.

Some people think 40 is cresting some hill as though your life has neared the end, For me, "40" is my starting line.

I don't want to have my car drive itself, I want control of the wheel. I want to take back the wheel of my life as well.  I want the opportunity to wake up and choose what I want to eat for breakfast.

Prison has caused me to learn to cut the strings.  I don't live by my heart, I live by my gut and cat senses.  I have to remind myself to show heart to people because prison has made me a cold man in many cases. That's the side effect of living in a very cold world for 10 years.

I thought I could completely beat this place.  Unfortunately while doing this amount of time, it's now inside me.  I remind myself that if time can heal a broken heart, then time may also reverse the effects of this place on me.

Prison knows heartbreak.  It doesn't know emotion.  It will chew you up and spit you out over and over.  In prison you live by a code.  Respect!  You prove your respect and loyalty to the men here. When your friend gets his shit stolen and his ass kicked, will you stand in the paint beside him?  If you do, then he owes you the same.  Thus a bond is created.

I have family back here that isn't my blood, and I have blood out there that isn't my family.

I call home every week to ask my mom to tell me the newest news on each of my brothers and sisters because I care.  I live a life where I'm out of sight, and out of mind.  Nobody owes me anything, but I've been watching.......

Those people who have stayed at arms length from me while I was gone can expect the same, once I'm released.  "You" didn't stand in the paint beside me.  When my life was taken and I was left standing beside a cold concrete wall on the wrong side of the fence, I felt alone.

If your just reading these words, you have somehow cared more than most and I feel you standing beside me.

Thank you,

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Tunnel Vision

Watching my daughter turn 19, wishing I could turn 40 already and seeing the light at the end of this tunnel finally.  The finish line begins to come into focus and I'm realizing it's time for me to begin to shift gears

I've lived here with the attitude of "when in Rome, do as the Romans"...  It's saved my life and carried me through a dime in D.O.C. - Prison lingo- for ten years is a "dime" since it's worth 10 cents...

A soldier goes off to battle for 5 or 6 years and comes home diagnosed with PTSD and a multitude of other ticks and misfires..I've seen dudes cut, stabbed, beat near to death and hung.  You learn to simply walk past these scenarios if they don't involve you, so that they don't BEGIN to involve you.  I've seen racial hatred grow 10 fold over the past few years.  Then you have the gang wars and retaliation.  You learn to pick your battles since you may die in the process.  So was it REALLY worth it?  You ask yourself that everyday.

I find myself reading a chapter in my Bible every morning just to make certain my guardian angel has had her coffee and is read to tackle another day beside me.  I'm also pretty certain I'm going to obtain my medical-marijuana card once I'm home, so I can enjoy prescribed mental satisfaction.

I have enjoyed writing for this blog as it's a means to vent and stay connected.  Many of my friends and even family seldom write me, so this has become my message board to keep you informed that I'm still alive and half-sane.

I've learned a lot about myself in here.  I found how far I can bend without breaking.  People grow when they get pushed down.  A divorce, the loss of a loved one, a miscarriage.  Whatever the ordeal, it's these situations that create well rounded people who can stand tall when any kind of push comes to shove.  If you haven't been through much, good for you.  But you should probably seek out someone who has had their shit-hit-the-fan, as your go-too.

My little girl is 19.  She's finding her groove and walking out her own path.  I'm proud, she has one hell of a Daddy who has been there and done that.  I'm blessed she's OK with that, embraces it, and loves and respects me.

A special thanks to you readers who have followed my life on the jail-bird.  I intend to write more in an attempt to begin the transition back into society.

Until next time...