I sit in the cell listening to Kendrick Lamar’s album Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers on my tablet with my headphones. It calms me. Looking around the cell, the adage “Every man’s home is his castle” comes to mind. Nah, I say to myself, this all belongs to the Department of Corrections. At any moment a guard could come and force me to move somewhere else. I cannot consider a cell to be my home. Which is why I refer to it as the cell and not cell.
