[Neurotic Jew is sitting alone at a table in the prison cafeteria, sporting an orange jumpsuit and a freshly shaved head]
Neurotic Jew's Interior Monologue: This jumpsuit is too big on me, it makes me look even scrawnier than I already am. I specifically told the guy Small - I'm swimming in this Medium! This is the last thing I need - I'm fresh, weak, meat in this place already. How am I, and my asshole, gonna stay protected? Maybe I'll join a gang - the Aryan Brotherhood. I bet I could pass as a Christian - I mean they shaved off my Jew-fro and I have blue eyes! Passing? Dear God where am I, Vichy France? And I can forget about my literary ambitions. Back in the '60s it was cool to go to jail - "You've been in the slammer? Sweet man, write about that shit!" Now it's all "Where'd you get your MFA?" and "Who do you know at Random House?" It's a fucking travesty. Wait is that giant Mexican guy looking at me? Don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact... Oh God, I just made eye contact. FUUUUUUCK!!!!
[Bro sits down next to Neurotic Jew, tray full of food in hand]
BRO: Dude, you gotta try this creamed corn! No joke - BEST. Creamed corn. Ever.