Variations on Fiddy-Word Friday

I'm breaking my own rules here for the Fiddy-Day Friday special, but I got inspired by something I saw the other day and felt the need to do more of a free-writing style thing before I lose the memory.

It's been a week since I got put into solitary confinement for starting that fight in my prison pod. No visitors, no letters, no interaction with the real world. Just me in a 10x10 foot room with a toilet, a blanket and the guards coming by twice a day with meals.

I've got a small window -- a slit really -- that allows light in during the day. It's through that slit that I see my girl, Ruby, waving at me from across the street. She comes every day -- after work I think because it's long after rush hour and the lines of cars leave the streets.

Damn she's beautiful. Her hair's just been done in a cornrows and she's wearing the black leather jacket I got for her for Christmas. Underneath is her work gear -- a plain white shirt and black pants for her job at the hotel restaurant. I can almost smell her skin -- she's got a warm, dusky scent like heated honey and roses.

I know I fucked up. I know I violated my parole when I smoked that joint and went out for a drink. I know I fucked up enough to get a year in jail. I fucked up when that fucker said a comment about how Ruby's a sweet piece of ass, and I just lost it and punched him. I knew I fucked up the instant my fist connected with his jaw. I couldn't help it. No one talks about my girl like that.

And now I'm in fucking solitary. I lost privileges to see Ruby for at least a week. I've tried to be good -- and Lord knows it's hard -- but I'm doing it all for my baby. I'm doing this so I can see her again, hold her again, tell her I love her again.

I wave back to Ruby and she blows me a kiss.

The guard opens the door.

"Dinner," he grunts, pushing the tray of cold food at me.

I look out the window again. Ruby's gone -- most likely to work. I know I've been lucky with her. But some days, I can't help but wonder why she still comes by to see me. She could have any other man -- someone's who hasn't been in jail and can pay the bills -- but why stick with me? I gotta be lucky in some respects, I guess.