Unusual Crimes
On Tuesday, July 27, which was, improbably, the coldest day of the year in Indiana, I visited the Federal Institution of Criminal and Theological Internment for Offenders of Normality. It had taken a [redacted] amount of time for me to get this appointment. I had to prove to the government that I had no interest in the Institution, and would not think too much about whatever it is I found therein.
Bradley “The Pickle” Thomtomson (he got his nickname “The Pickle” from a fast food incident involving Scotch tape and unfashionable scarves) took me into the bowels of the Institution, which was housed below [redacted].
As we passed the prison cells, I asked what the incarcerated were in for.
“Oh, that one broke the law of gravity. A cliché, yes, but still very dangerous. And this one,” he paused outside the barred plexiglass window of a specially designed “anti-infinity” cell, “was caught trying to divide by zero. If her wife hadn’t turned her in … who knows?”
I looked into the cell and saw a person dressed in the drab glowing fuchsia and neon green uniform of prisoners in most underground federal secret holding facilities.
The Pickle stopped at cell door number [redacted]. “This is our top prize. The worst of the worst. This one keeps me up at night and asleep during the day.”
