At 5 AM , back in 1984, when the police transferred me from The Hall of Justice to Juvenile Hall, they put six of us in the back of the police van. With handcuffed wrists and a smooth, seamless interior we fell hard against the metal sides and floor as the police stopped short and swerved their way through the deserted streets. Finally, we braced against each other, half on one metal bench he other half on a lump on the van floor.
When we finally arrived at Juvey one of those generically mustached cops asked, "Did you enjoy the ride?"
"Not as much as seeing your head on a stake", mumbled the finally-down-from-tripping, mohawked punk I had spent the last few hours with. Only I heard him though. At intake they knew him by name and said, "Sorry to see you again. This is you third time in 6 months. You’re going to be here awhile." The took him off separately and left me to wait for my parents.