If you find a pink vibrator on the beach, you may walk by with a smile.
But when you find a pink vibrator washed up on the beach and you\'re in jail, you grab it and run.
The federal prison of William Hyde, also known as the Fed Club, is an 80-
From the southern tip of Vancouver Island to the Juan de Fuka Strait, an acre of windy rocky peninsula stretches out.
It is both a prison and a beautiful place.
In the evening, you can see the lights of the Port of Los Angeles.
20 miles south.
Victoria of British Columbia blinks from the northeast five miles away.
A high steel fence with razorwire on top, supported by two cannons, closed the joint land entrance, and the cold black waves of the Pacific Ocean slapped the surrounding coast like hungry police dogs.
The prison is to separate us from society and from the daily business of life.
But the sea around us, especially in the winter storms that hit the rugged coast, also brings information and signs of life that we cannot reach.
In plastic shopping bags and Javex bottles, pieces of fish drift and dock rope wear are flat Cheerios boxes, empty packs of hot blue cornflakes, a can of Turtle Wax, a baby\'s car seat, A plastic battery for a child with a wheel, the driver is missing, a broken plywood with the words forbidden.
Cleaning up the debris from these rocks sometimes adds fuel to our prison economy.
Some face sits against the wind, squats in the invisible part of the patrol truck, searching in the waves for a swing whisky bottle with a few scum left, or a Ziploc baggy with a few cannabis buds, smoking is still allowed.
A stone drinker told me to find half a man.
A bottle of what he calls a black bat.
He drank it and shot it down on the spot, then finally woke up and helped find the AA group here, which in some way had a great irony and was named\"
\") The drug demons have to be a little lower and look harder, comb the cow kelp, sweep the stone with your fingers, uncover the small plastic syringe and sell it for $20, or trade a lump of heroin directly.
Once the pink vibrator is flushed, dried and equipped with a battery and several new wires, it is as vibrant as the day it left the sex goods store.
The buzzing missile ignited a crazy bidding war.
Lucky beach grooming machine is rumored to have 12 packs of tobacco and then be able to come back --
Tax four more bags to the buyer, do not disclose his name to others.
A young crooner from the northern part of the 60 th century took out a wallet containing $16 Am bills.
Functional illiterate, not familiar with the appearance of the United States
He thought he won the jackpot and was disappointed when his dealer did a cool calculation for him.
Still, he was fed up by the exchange rate.
I don\'t drink or hi these days;
My needs are small so I chose the beach for different reasons.
I walk on the beach every day, staring at the bits of logs and kelp.
I look at that half.
Submerged square edges, or colors or textures that are out of place with the natural world.
At different times, I took out a broken sleeve, a pair of mirror sunglasses (one less lens), and the sharp step was high. top, size 13.
These things make up the news that I came from the outside world, my mail, anonymous posting, unexpected arrival, connecting me to the life of a stranger --side shores.
I imagine the origin of each item, its journey, its past life, and try to imagine the person it touched.
I imagine a young man on the beach tearing a red condom bag with his teeth or his girlfriend tearing it with his teeth.
Is it possible that it was only a month after the throwing of the past ship portholes comrades-year-
The old man stole it from his parents\' bedside table to make water balloons, leaving a deep impression on his friends. I would like to know the flat package of hot blue corn flakes.
Did it open and pour into the bowl while grilling, or the fries shared by two friends, ate directly from the package while they were sitting on the side of the pier, their toes touched the water, touching each other, where is Batman with bat hands?
Wax their Pontiac Firebird on the rest day and then throw the brown container into the bay, and finally there is a hinged plywood door that mysteriously rests on the rock of the place, the purpose is that these shabby, broken and stagnant objects Beach is the bond I have with the outside world.
Everyone has their own story. it\'s their story that sets me free.
Every year for a few days, in the most violent storms and the highest tides, the ocean will even give up the information of the past, which is a long-forgotten deep-sea relic.
There was a rotten board with a plaque inscribed on an old sailing boat, a burnt-out rusty remains, and occasionally some pieces of pottery with faded Chinese characters.
At the turn of the last century, immigrant ships from Europe and Asia moored in the Great Bay and unloaded at the victims of smallpox or lepers.
Before this place becomes another prison, it is an isolated station.
There is a cemetery on the south side, the final resting place for travelers who have never set foot on the last stop of the new world tour.
Their graves are marked with the names, dates and names of the ships they sail-
Like the one I used to sit on: 1901-
1911, Queen of Russia.
There are also prisoners here who, like Papillon on The Devil Island, sit there and meditate on the tides, not because of what they bring, but because of how long they will accomplish something.
As we all know, how cold the waters around us are. An average-
Large people will only last eight minutes before their physical speed.
The loss of heat accelerated to a low body temperature, followed by a loss of limb function and then death.
People greased their bodies from head to foot with lard stolen from the kitchen, then sneaked into the dark, and no one heard them again.
One year, the prisoners staged Count de Gula for the guards and their families: After the show, the main character paddled in a special coffin to freedom.
Those who are left behind are trying to maintain the illusion that those who are missing are successful in their attempts, but everyone knows, deep down in the heart of his prisoner, this is the last escape for most people. Trinket, a pre-
The tranney prisoner and she were quick. to-
The released boyfriend arranged an appointment.
My boyfriend went out. at the scheduled time, the trinket dog-
He was greeted with a paddle on his motorboat.
The trinkets did not have the strength to pull themselves out of the water, and the splashing and commotion reminded the guards.
Her boyfriend panicked and shot at the outboard motor.
Although she managed to climb the boat, the propeller caught the trinket.
The next day she was found dead by a waitress at a motel. -
The bed in her stomach was messed up by a blade. A one-
My friend made a wet suit with polyurethane bags, ropes and tape.
After dark, on his big night, Ian waddled down the rock, untied his legs, climbed up his temporary suit and jumped in.
He plans to swim to the nearest beach, half a mile across the bay, waiting for his escape vehicle.
Ian told me that before the motorcycle accident he was a good swimmer in high school and he looked so firm and confident that I didn\'t have the courage to give him an obvious message ---
He had one leg lighter than me and was 20 years older.
About 15 minutes before 10. m.
Count, I lay on the bunk on the second floor of the dormitory, praying for Ian, when I heard my name called on the ground below.
Ian wants a towel and some dry clothes so that he can slip away from the guard in time to count.
It turned out that his escape vehicle didn\'t show up, one leg and one 20-
After traveling a mile under the nearest light, he turned and swam back.
The next morning we took his wooden legs out of the rock.
Ian completed his mission, was released and died of a heroin overdose on the same day.
Every day, no matter what season, I will walk on the beach;
I sat on the hard ground of the prison, staring at the white wax that was knocked on the sea.
I don\'t want whiskey bottles, Ziploc bags or vibrators.
I am not studying a trend that can be crossed.
I did notice this. -
For the sake of entertainment, sometimes a provocation, always a connection ---
But float out on these connections and escape into my mind.
When there is a moment of rest--
There is no wind, no movement, no distant coast ---
I was frustrated by the deep places.
Then I, like the sadness of the old days, sank slowly and lazily, and finally came to the bottom of the world to rest.