Oceans of Trees by John Dowell

I have everything I need. I have a cold steel toilet for my bare ass to sit on. I have a little push-button sink that runs just long enough to wet my whistle. I have an iron bunk—easy to make. I have four iron pegs to hang my khaki clothes. A concrete floor easy to mop of blood and urine. And best of all, a blue iron door and a servant to kindly throw the bolt each night before bed.
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