#3482

The young man sits in his wool woven seat, cracked at the ends from his unusual posterity, moving the mouse to place the Queen on top of the King. He thinks this game is won and were it not for the black swan of an error in his fidgety fingers when he was going through the deck he probably would have caught his mistake.

This is the thirty second game he's played since his shift started and he has won none of them. He doesn't feel disheartened, though. He's much too apathetic to feel really anything about this silly game of solitaire on this silly machine. The only reason he plays solitaire is to pass the time, anyway. He could always move on to Hearts but its a little too complicated for him, what with the trading of the cards and then figuring the suits into the strategy. Then there's, what, spider solitaire? The young man doesn't believe in variations of classics. The young man doesn't consider himself slow or stupid. The young man is just trying to pass the time.

He receives the radio relay signaling him to meet the prisoners at the elevator in order to transfer them into the visitors room. This young man closes his current game and walks over to meet this next batch of delinquents.

And delinquents is what they are. He has seen prisoners of all types; from the violent repeated offenders to the remorseful strayards. He has little interest in actually engaging in anymore contact than he needs to with these peoples, hence, his position as detainee transfer deputy.

The young man doesn't fear for his safety with these men. That isn't why he chose his career in law enforcement as a DRD. The man simply doesn't care to engage in the drudge society anymore than he already does. Their luck has reached its limit and though he isn't superstitious, he isn't quite sure if he isn't either.

He leads the prisoners into a temperate room. On one side is where the prisoners sit; aluminum stools have locked themselves onto the ground and the floor is stone pavement. On the other side is where the visitors damn or cry or often just stare. Their seats are more comfortable.

The young man unshackles the chains, one by one, making sure to re-shackle them onto the stools. Then, the young man exists the room, leaving the criminals to their own thoughts before the visitors are allowed to enter theirs.

He walks out and back to his woolen chair adjacent to the Plexiglas where the prisoners sit. He looks at the time; roughly two hours left in his shift. Deciding he doesn't yet want to begin his wager, he tilts his head though not his eyes through the plexiglas. This way he can still generally examine them without regarding them. One of the jailed sits in his stool, hands clasped and head down, though not praying, waiting for his visitor, whom will likely be a future visitor of this cage. The other jailed paces as far as his chain will let him, eyes glaring through the glass, waiting to be given the chance to strike at fortuna. The last jailed is obviously out of place; his eyes red, he trembles at the smell of justice and nods his head back and fourth. The prisoner diversity intrigues him.

By any regards, the man thinks, these delinquents would be regarded in a much more lamentable status than him. Their solemn looks stand testament to that. On this day, he speculates their thoughts. Some may surely be damning the stars. Still others may be damning him. Rare it is when compunction leaden their souls. Though the man has never engaged in conversation with any of the prisoners, he feels their travesties are finite behavioral nuances. Here, these prisoners can either be sentenced to their hell or blessed a rebirth.

Before becoming consumed in his thoughts, their thoughts, the young man pops game #3482 on the screen. The young man moves the ace up to the top right of the screen and longs for a deck of his own.