Letters from Prison.

When you're sitting in the hole in Florence, Colorado's Federal Penitentiary, you don't really get much in the way of art supplies. Or food. Or sunlight.

You could get a box of colored pencils on commissary once a month, assuming you had the money on your books.

As far as contact with the outside world-

Well...they're supposed to roll a phone down the hall once a month so you can get a 30 minute call. Under perfect circumstances of course.

I got to use the phone three times in five months. Excuses, excuses.

So my wife and I wrote to each other every single day. We'd only get mail twice a week so that shit built up.

I would usually include a drawing. I was also usually tripping on synthetic cannabinoids.

Here's some of that stuff-