I like trains. I like the sound they make, chuga, chuga, but ‘specially I like the whistle.

Paul–he’s my brother–he told me that each time I hear a train whistle that I should jump up and try and touch the sky. It makes people laugh. It’s good when people laugh. It’s much better than when they shout and push.

Paul says I need to be polite to everyone here, do what I’m told, and he’ll look out for me. We’ll have fun here.

But the food’s no good. When I told the cook she should let Paul do the cookin’ she got real mad, and Paul got into a fight again.

He told me I wasn’t allowed to hit no one, even when guards beat him, and I was tellin’ them to stop!

Then they took him to soltiary.

I’m scared without Paul. But one of the screws–that’s what they are called here, I heard the men say so–told me he’ll come to my cell tonight to tuck me in. So it won’t be so bad.

I’m makin’ friends here.

Match the story (and the number) to the face at Mirrors.

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