We get a wide variety of letters mailed to us here at the old birdcage lining company—many hostile and several complimentary, as well as the occasionally batshit crazy missive. I particularly enjoy receiving mail from the loyal readers we have in our state prisons. They probably don’t have the best selection of up-to-date periodicals on the inside, and I like the idea that we can give them a little bit of a vicarious peek at what local shows and bars and restaurants they might be going to check out if they weren’t stuck in the clink. Returning the favor, here’s a reader giving us a peek of his life, were prisons to publish drinking issues:

Dear Mercury, I was just reading your story (“How the other half drinks”) and was inspired to add one: “Drink Like a Prisoner.” I had just gotten a new celly about a week and a half ago, he was fresh off the chain and had never been to state prison before. I had to show him around and show him how this place works including how to drink like a prisoner. First we had to wait for our monthly random shakedown, and with a new guy in the cell it was bound to happen soon. With that out of the way we then had to secure the 4 ingedients needed from the kitchen workers, It’s a risk so we pay them off with coffee and envelopes. Now we are ready to make the prisoner’s delight, “toilet wine.” We mix all the ingredients in a plastic garbage bag with two pitchers of 190-degree water and hide it in our cell, and for 3 days we eat and go to the yard in shifts. We always have someone in our cell in case we get another shakedown, we can act like we’re pooping to get the break we need to dump the wine. After 3 days we strain it into pitchers and we are ready, we have 2 qts apiece of high power sauce, now the trick is to drink it down fast and don’t breathe, it tastes horrible but gets the job done if you can hold it down. Now fully loaded and evidence disposed of, it’s time to head out to the yard. But first my celly is feeling his oats, so we get into a wrestling match on the floor of my cell but it’s too small and he cracks his head on a steel shelf. Bleeding stops, yard line, we stay to one side of the hallway and try to maintain, walk in a straight line and don’t breathe on any cops, pray to god we don’t get pulled over for a pat down, they smell it and we’re done. We make it to the yard with about 800 other inmates, we have 2.5 hours to stumble around and enjoy our buzz. We come across one of my partners from another unit, him and his celly did the same thing so we pull up a table with them and start telling stories and laughing. My celly laughs so hard he falls out of his seat. It draws attention and the cop in the gun tower starts watching with binoculars, so we quiet down. Booze wearing off, and hangover already kicking in, it’s time to go inside. My head is pounding so bad it’s making me crosseyed—one of the unfortunate side effects of toilet wine. Later that night I wake up and my celly is sleeping on the floor, resting his head on the toilet. Good times.

Enjoy the long weekend, and enjoy your freedom.