l had the top bunk, the Moroccans wanted the bottom bunks cos they could put blankets around it and make it like a little room.
It certainly was interesting, and strange. There was heaps of hash and cigs, but no papers, so they were dearer than hash, and you only rolled one skinners, something l still do.
The first thing you did when you went in was sharpen your spoon into a knife, you carried this with you all the time. l was on my bunk one day, near the back of the casemate, when this young kid's voice rang out from up near the door. l suppose he must have been just 18 and all the Moroccans wanted to fuck him. l think he must have said something about the manhood of this big guy in the bunk next to mine, cos he leapt off his bed and tore down the end and started stabbing this kid. l was the only other one in there and l had to drag him off. l gave him an octopus hold from the back, hands and legs wrapped around him, struggling on the floor whilst he was trying to stab me. The kid had blood gushing out of two or three deep wounds in his neck, l thought he was dead. Eventually people rushed in and dragged him off me, l had cuts all over my arms and shoulder, but nothing serious. When l was transferred to the mainland a few weeks later to be released l was handcuffed to the big feller all the way over. We shared a little cabin on the boat. He was OK by then, we smoked a couple of Js on the way over and he was cool.
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