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Click HERE for part 2. Norma and I went to church on Sunday. We had two
purposes for attending: it offered a chance for fresh air,
as the chapel was located outside, and we wanted to see
Sparky. We weren't interested in threats of God's wrath,
which was always the weekly sermon, and on this occasion
I almost interrupted the speaker to ask if he had a hot line
from above. He sure sounded like he was in direct contact.
Five minutes after the service started, one woman began
feeling the spirit and started shouting. "Hallelujah! Praise
the Lord!" Heads turned toward the back, where an elderly
woman, with skinny arms and wearing a shrunk-up sweat-
er, had stood up and was waving her arms in the air.
"Thank you, Jesus!" she ranted, with tears in her eyes. Sev-
eral police, who had been patrolling the aisle, closed in on
the woman. She was grabbed under the armpits and escort-
ed out. Amen!
The pianist struck a few chords and we stood in unison
to the speaker's all-encompassing hand-sweep, then listened
to the opening refrain of "The Old Rugged Cross."
"Where are they . . . taking her?" I sang in tune with
the music.
"To the old . . . M.O. ward", Norma sang back, "where
they keep . . . all the nuts . . ."
Across the way I spotted Sparky and Dee Dee and
smiled a hello. When the song ended we sat down. Sparky's
small hands moved in gestures, which Norma had to inter-
pret for me. My roomie caught Dee Dee's attention and
rubbed her arm, indicative of asking her if she wanted
some dope. Norma made sure I was watching. Dee Dee
nodded emphatically.
"Fool ass woman!" Norma whispered. "She ain't giving up
shit, just the words sound pretty."
Sparky caught up with us on the way out. Her blue eyes
were red and it was obvious she was under the influence of
something beside the atmosphere. She asked if we wanted
to get bombed out, speaking openly and without bothering
to put any shade on herself. The idea of dope inside the jail
made me nervous and I shook my head. I didn't want any
part of it.
"Beatrice! What are you doing out of line?" The livid-
lipped officer stood right next to us. "Let me see your wrist-
bands!" We did and she jotted all three of our numbers.
"You are not to return to church for three weeks!"
Hallelujah! Sure wasn't no big thing with me, because I
had no plans on coming back in three years. The only thing
I learned was Sparky's name, which made it understandable
why she had adopted the Sparky monicker. Beatrice? Yuk!
"We sure blew that, huh?" I whispered to Norma.
"You mean church?" Norma seemed quite unaffected by
the whole affair, and more interested in getting into the cell.
"Hey! Officer! Open cell one!" The door grumbled open
and we sauntered in.
"Once a month is more than enough religion for me."
Norma scoffed. She slapped my back and laughed at her re-
flection in the mirror.
"You got that right." I lit a smoke. "How long you guys
been doing this?"
"Oh . . . about as long as long is," Norma responded
offhandedly. She ta te da'd a bit and patted her afro. "How
come you wanted to go see Sparky?" She turned around
and teased me with a smile.
"Line up in two's and proceed to the dining area!" the
box barked, before I had a chance to answer.
We leaped out, because whoever was swinging the doors
must have thought she had a bunch of Flash Gordon's un-
der her command, and the second the sliding gates banged
open, they were grinding closed again.
The tier was full of unruly women, dancing and giggling
at each other. It was evident that half the tank was zonked
out. The procession to the mess hall was a straggly one, and
when Norma had trouble making it up a ramp, I knew she
was high as a buzzard in heat. I guessed she had gotten
something from Sparky, even though I hadn't seen the ac-
tion, but flying my roomie was, and without wings.
When we got to the mess hall we found a woman lying in
the doorway, face down. I stopped.
"Step around! Keep the line moving! I said - STEP
AROUND!"
Like zombies marching through limbo, we all silently ob-
eyed. The woman just lay there on the floor, while someone
went to get a wheel chair. From what I'd heard about the
infirmary, she was probably better off right where she was.
As it was normally, just sitting on the little mess-hall
stools was a risky proposition, but that day most of the
women found it near impossible. A resident next to me
plopped off hard, then wobbled up cursing like a muleskin-
ner. Another woman collapsed in the meal line and tele-
phones started buzzing. When still another woman went
down for the count and a little red pill rolled out of her
pocket, the stuff was on! An officer nearby picked up the
pill, gasped and ran to a wall alarm. Beepers beeped, bells
banged, horns honked, and it sounded like one of those
SAC Red-Alerts. Brass stormed quickly into the mess hall,
like a swarm of bees hot on the case of a honey-looting
bear; sergants, lieutenants, captains and a couple of generaliss-
mos for good measure. I watched in awe.
Lines were pulled out of the mess hall - it was well be-
fore the alloted fifteen minutes - and we were pushed into
the T.V. room instead of our tank.
"How come they put us here?" I asked Norma.
She was hot. "What the fuck you think we're here for?
They're searching for the reds!" I started to say something
else, but she cut me off. "I don't wanna hear it!"
A short time later the uniformed search-party moved into
our tank. We watched intently through a window in the
door as the searchers went on a binge, reminiscent of a
bunch of ol' biddy's let loose at a bargain basement sale.
Things were thrown every which way, boxes were turned
over, linen was tossed onto the floor, ashtrays were dumped
indiscriminately. Everything not bolted down received the
business, and not even the pictures on the walls were
spared. One officer found a smoking kite in Rio's cell, and
squealed her delight. Others gathered around, while the
guard read it aloud. We could hear what was being said
clearly in the T.V. room. Rio stood alone in a corner, pink
with embarrassment and rage.
Most of the women in the T.V. room involved them-
selves with hasty attempts at sobering up. Some primped,
some did exercises, while a few practiced walking a straight
line. We would all be scrutinized closely, and a clumsy
move could lead to a urine test, which always revealed if
there were drugs in the system or not. I eyed Norma from
time to time, but she remained cool and as far as I could
tell, was in complete control of her head. We didn't have
any worries as far as contraband was concerned, because I
hadn't collected any and Norma always made her stash out-
side the cell.
For a while it appeared as if our tank was going to get
away clean. It was my thought that maybe everything had
been consumed. At about that point a sergeant struck gold.
She came out onto the freeway, carrying a pillowcase. She
set it down and began pulling pills from it by the fistfull.
Her expression was one of crazed joy. This discovery would
garner her plenty of extra points, and could even lead to a
promotion.
Two hours went by before we were allowed back into the
tier. As we walked from the T.V. to the tank, any woman
walking wobble-legged was pulled out of line for a urine
test. I could barely conceal my relief when Norma and I
passed through unmolested.
Our cell reflected a disaster area, after a heavy romance
with a tornado, and as we stood open-mouthed, wondering
where to start cleaning up at, B.B. decided to make a patrol
along the catwalk.
"Ladies! Your cells are a mess!" she piped. "Double
scrub! There will be an inspection shortly!"
Rio's cell had been hit the hardest, though it was not the
one which had given up the Big Red bust. "Officer! Can I
have some clean linen? My sheets are full of ashes."
"Linen is distributed only on Wednesdays," B.B. in-
formed Rio distantly, then was gone with a ring of her
keys.
Rio rolled her eyes at the ceiling. She stood with hands
on hips, her lips tight, and her eyes filled with suppressed
rage. "That motherfucker!" she growled low in her throat.
"That low-lifed, robot-assed BITCH! Oooooh!"
Three weeks later I received my first visit. The visiting
room was a shoddy affair, with sectioned-off aisles and
stools, similiar to those in the mess hall. In front of each
stool was a thick glass window, and a telephone for commu-
nication. The visiting room officer pushed two one-dollar
bills at me, then slid a receipt pad and a dulled pencil stub
across the desk.
"Sign here." I did. "Window thirteen."
As it was a weekday, the room was fairly empty. Most
people came on weekends, due to working schedules. My
visitor was Julie, a friend from the old neighborhood. Her
bright colorful clothing and neatly curled hair appeared
foreign to me. A pimp in the next seat ogled her, obviously
interested in her possibilities. The more he stared, the more
Julie squirmed, and there was a mixture of excitement and
fear on her sheltered face. She had trouble starting the con-
versation, so I began firing questions on the telephone,
about the friends we knew and the places where we used to
hang out. This eased the tension somewhat, and soon we
were gossiping like a pair of freshly unmuzzled magpies.
Our twenty minutes ended in five seconds, much too fast,
and in the middle of thanking Julie for the two dollars the
receiver was cut off. At first I thought the phone might
have gone on the blink, but after I shook it till it rattled, I
realized the phone was all right. It had been killed by a hu-
man and there was no question of resurrection. I waved
goodbye to Julie and carefully formed the words "come
again." She blew me a kiss and nodded. After that she show-
ed every week.
Norma was pleased to see that I had some money. New
bookings came into the tank regularly, and since they never
brought cigarettes or candy, those with money were more
than willing to pay extra for items. By stocking heavy, Nor-
ma and I could increase our income rather handsomely, by
selling the victuals for double the price. Of course, since
there was a limit as to how many cigarettes and candy bars
each resident could purchase at one time, we preferred pay-
ment in supplies rather than case. This way, we managed to
constantly stock-up, but without spending any of our own
money. Naturally, such a practice was frowned upon by the
authorities, but what the shucks, some of those people
frowned on breathing.
"Just don't feel sorry for anyone," Norma schooled.
"Most of these folks will split before you do anyway. If
they complain about the price, don't worry about it, be-
cause there's always another train on the same track. Be-
sides, we got the only store on the tier, so it's either us or
wait. You dig? Another game you got to watch for is some-
body sayin' you ought to give 'em a break, because they're
my friend. Don't go for that, as my tights all know that this
is my hustle, know what I mean, jellybean?"
I enjoyed the excitement of becoming Norma's business
partner. "I understand, rubberband."
Our next canteen was that night and after we made our
purchases, Norma dumped the diddy bags on the bed. She
rubbed her hands briskly together.
"Okay! Let's check out the goodies!"
Our store turned out to be a huge success and it brought
enough profit to easily support one of my newly acquired
pleasures - gambling. I found it to be a relaxing pastime.
Of course I was no Cincinnati Kid at Tonk, Bid Wisk or
Poker, but Norma more than made up for what I dropped,
as she rarely lost.
The yuletide approached. This was always a depressing
period for women in jail, as thoughts turned to families,
children and friends. There would be no chestnuts roasting
on any open fires, nor would Saint Nick be wise if he
fooled around in the bleak confines of C.J., unless he want-
ed to find himself posing for a mug shot.
'Twas the night before Christmas when Sparky sent me a
note, with a tab of acid enclosed. I split the tablet with
Norma, and we tripped throughout the night. The usually
nerve-wracking sounds of women snoring became a hilar-
ious experience. Later, I just stared at the walls and ceiling,
which became a lacework of soft, intricately patterned
women's faces.
At breakfast I looked for Sparky, but she wasn't in the
mess hall. Dee Dee caught my questioning look and sig-
naled that she was in the hole. I spent the rest of the meal
thinking about Sparky. Finally, I decided that I would join
her in lock-up.
"Damn her!" I said to Norma, back on the tier. "Why on
Christmas?"
"Whatcha gonna do about it?" Norma baited.
"Go down there and wish her a Merry Christmas." I re-
torted.
Norma popped her fingers gleefully and went through
some Flip Wilson motions.
"Only one thing, Norma . . . what if they . . ."
"That's a possibility." Norma had the same thought, that
perhaps we might be separated. The rule was "you move,
you lose," and if a new booking showed and you were in
the hole, welp, you could find your things out on the door-
step when you showed back.
Norma squinted at me. "Ahhhh . . . . I might be able to
maintain the fort, so I'll hold onto your stuff, okay?" She
touched my cheek with the back of her hand and smiled.
"You go ahead and wish Miss Mean a Merry Christmas,
and give her hell for being down there." She moved toward
the bed. "As for me, I'm after a heap of zzzz's. That acid is
wearing off and I'm one weary sucker."
I strolled to the front of the tier and asked B.B. if she
would kindly sharpen my pencil.
"You'll have to wait! I'm busy!"
That was the usual answer and the one I'd been waiting
for. It gave me an excuse to start spouting out foul lan-
guage and I told her in layman's terms what I thought of
her and her jail. She wasn't too busy after that little barrage
and before I could say "plinkety plunk" I found myself in
the empty T.V. room. A few minutes later, the sergeant
who'd busted open the Red Connection showed up. We had
encountered each other on previous occasions, (although
those were relatively mild meetings) so we weren't strang-
ers.
"Ima? What is this?" The sergeant's tone was brittle.
I waved my arms in disgust. "I'm tired! I've had it! I just
don't care anymore!"
"Ima, now you just simmer down." I almost fainted!
Where was Sergeant Regulations coming from, actually
trying to soothe me? "When in Rome, it is wise to do as the
Romans do." She beamed at her own philosophic plagia-
rism.
"Never!" I felt silly at my dramatics, but some of the
acid was still in my system, and it bolstered my devil-may-
care attitude. "Just because I love pizza, doesn't mean I
have to act as a Roman! I refuse!" I fixed her with my
Henrietta VIII glare, thinking, "eat your heart out, Richard
Burton, 'cause Ima Fibbon is a natural."
The sergeant continued trying to reason with me. "It's
Christmas, and I don't want to bring you punishment on
this holy day. In fact, I'm going to overlook your actions, in
the hope that you will repay my kindness by behaving your-
self in the future."
I didn't really want a vendetta with the sergeant, so I
backed up. "Okay," I muttered, and slouched all the way
back to my tank.
B.B. let me in, seemingly unaffected, except that her jaws
were so tight, her cheeks were twitching.
I entered our cell like a whupped dog with his tail tucked
between his legs. Just my luck! On the day I was loaded for
bear, everyone else was practising humanity. Norma was
still in bed, but propped on her elbow smoking.
"What happened, baby?" She looked confused, since the
whole tier had heard first hand the "sharpened pencil af-
fair", and that was supposed to be some sho 'nuf long gone
lock-up.
"Aw man . . ." I mumbled. "Everybody's full of good
will, favors, all that shit."
Norma handed me a cigarette, trying to hold back the
laughter. She dropped the smoke on the floor and we both
doubled up in delirium. Soon, we were screeching until the
tears ran from our eyes.
Before mess I got another brainstorm. Norma giggled at
what I planned to do, but expressed some doubts about
whether or not I would follow through. I lit my cigarette
and sat on the table, feeling it as my adrenalin began to
build in anticipation of the upcoming "Ima Fibbon Christ-
mas Special."
We entered the mess hall in the usual manner. Norma
was behind me, but quite, just observing. Wide-eyed I
looked around, completely discarding the "Cagney" shade.
"Eyes straight ahead!"
I took a deep breath, then shouted at the top of my
lungs, "Merry Christmas!"
Everything stopped dead, but I noticed that most of the
long faces had changed into grins. Thus encouraged, I be-
gan hollering to everyone I knew, then to some peeps I
didn't know. Each of them responded with a "Merry
Christmas" and a smile. Finally, the yuletide spirit was
strangled by prison discipline, in the form of two officers
who pulled me out of line.
They hustled me off to a different T.V. room. This was
closer to the mess hall. Women passing by asked if I was all
right or not, and one woman rolled a lit cigarette under the
door. Ten minutes later they came for me. Two women and
a male waded through the smoke from my recently
clinched cigarette. I grinned sheepishly.
"Ima! Come with us!"
I was hoping one of them would smile. After all, I hadn't
stolen the Pentagon Papers! "Where am I going?"
"Just come along!"
I gulped. Their somber expressions made me feel like I
was headed for the last mile.
We went through hallways, down ramps - always down.
The deeper we got the quieter it became. Eventually, we
reached a level where there was no music. Instead, the tank
echoed with a variety of sounds.
"Hey! Officer! If you don't give me a cigarette, God is
gonna send you to hell!" Another voice spewed out every
swear word in existence. When she ran out of those, she in-
vented some of her own. Vocal chords were at full strength.
"Shut those goddamn nuts up!" This came from the oth-
er side of the tank. I was escorted to that side.
"So, this is lock-up?" I was hoping someone would say,
"yup, now you know, so you can go back upstairs." In-
stead, I was frisked bare.
The tier gate opened. "Cell ten!"
The freezing faces hadn't melted one degree. I walked by
the cells, afraid to look in on the inhabitants.
"Hey! Ima!" It was Rio.
I stopped. "Rio! What are you still doing down here?"
She had disappeared the day after the "Reds Bust".
"Move on, Ima!" I took another look at Norma's dishev-
eled partner and scurried away.
"Izzat you, Ima?" a familiar voice queried, shouting over
the other noises.
The atmosphere was eerie and tense, but I tried to make
light of my fear. "Yeah, it's me . . . Zat you?"
Sparky laughed. I figured she was about five cells away,
toward the back, and I fought against the urge to run past
cell ten to see her.
"You know it is, girl. How come you're here?" I couldn't
imagine why Sparky sounded in such good spirits. I was
ready to go back upstairs.
"Figgered I'd come down and wish ya'll a Merry Christ-
mas." My voice was beginning to crack.
"Hey! Rio! Did you hear?"
"Yeah," Rio bellowed.
"That's by baby," Sparky concluded with a little squeal.
I looked over my shoulder, still tempted to run and see
Sparky, but the male officer was starting down the tier men-
acingly.
"I said . . . Get into cell ten . . . NOW!"
I ran inside, and after the door slammed behind me, I
stood in the center of the cell, until my eyes adjusted to the
gloom. There were Corn Flakes glued to the wall, most of
the springs were missing from the bed, and there was no
locker. Lipstick writings were everywhere, floor, ceiling,
walls, and the most interesting notice referred to a former
king of rock and roll: "Elvis Presley is my wife." - He is,
huh? Well, I'd like to inform you, your old lady is dead.
She died from a heart attack, after a hound dog shit on his
blue suede shoes."
Someone started rattling a door, making the whole tank
vibrate. A loud, deep, voice blurted, "Get off the mother-
fucking door!" There was a sudden quiet, but a shortlived
one, broken first by a racial slur, then an outburst of oppos-
ing viewpoints.
We dined alone on paper plates, with a paper spoon, and
coffee in a paper cup. All the food was cold, and I just sat
and watched the instant potatoes sag away. Part of the
lock-up punishment was no sugar, salt, cream or canteen,
which made it quite clear that the lock-up section was the
real jail, with all the 20th-century refinements and finesse
rubbed away.
A trustee came by to collect the dirty plates. As I handed
her mines, she slipped me two cigarettes and some help un-
derneath the plate. I caught them in my hand. The woman
winked and I winked back. Sparky was doing okay in the
dungeon.
I split the match and lit one of my cigarettes, constantly
waving it around so the smoke wouldn't billow out the door in
a cloud. I only took a few drags, then clinched, once again
for the purpose of keeping the smoke and odor at a mini-
mum. I hid the remaining paraphernalia under a roll of toi-
let paper; a split match, a piece of striker and a butt and a
half.
A few minutes later I received my linen and immediately
made up my bed. It looked so comfortable and I was con-
templating a quick nap, but the "bar rattler" started up
again and had a real freaky time of making everybody mi-
serable. I flopped down anyway, and to my surprise, found
that the incessant rythmn of the shaking door was actually
soothing me to sleep.
When I returned from the land of nod the lights were on in
the outside corridor. Time had disappeared completely and
I wasn't sure if it was still the same day or the next morning.
Tears filled my eyes as I reflected on how low I had come in
existence. Not only was I in jail, but I was in a jail that was
in the jail! I consoled myself with the fact that at least I
would be released from lock-up in the foreseeable future,
whereas those women on the other side would live in this
hell-hole indefinitely. The thought made me bitter, the idea
that there wasn't enough compassion involved with han-
dling the women who couldn't help their actions. I thought
about the old lady in church and wondered about her fate.
"Lights out, ladies!" The officer placed a special empha-
sis on "ladies," indicating she felt the title was really out of
place. "There will be no more talking!"
Even the wackos on the other side quieted down. I was
thinking about Norma, when Rio's voice started to float
down the tier. She was singing "Amazing Grace," and as I
lay on my cot an extraordinary sense of peace overtook me.
I thought it ludicrous that such beauty and sweetness could
thrive in that sickening environment. Perhaps the filth and
degradation played a part in making Rio's gentle sound so
lovely. When the song ended someone sniffled. It took a
moment or two for me to realize that I was the sniffler.
"Night, baby," Sparky said through the quiet.
"Night, Sparky," I said, crawling under the covers.
"Night, Rio."
"Beddy bye, Ima."
The noise started again on the other side, which served
as a signal for the bar rattler on our side to start up. I slept
through it all.
I spent several days in the madness. On the fifth day
Sparky and I were notified that we would be getting out. I
was relieved, because holding onto reality had become quite
a chore. Rio was informed at the same time that she would
remain in the hole. The woman who had gotten busted with
the reds had also implicated her. When I walked past her
cell I felt a heavy weight. I was thankful that I was going
back upstairs, but I found it difficult to leave Rio behind. I
stopped.
"Well, man . . ." I attempted a grin. "Keep on keeping
on . . ."
Rio smiled through the bars. "Aw . . . shit!" She popped
her fingers. "Ain't nuttin' but a meatball."
"Come on, Ima, unless you want to stay down here!"
I touched Rio's hand, then walked toward the front.
Sparky's door swung next. She danced out onto the tier.
As she zipped to the front she hollered at everyone she
passed. "Rio, you take care, hear? Things get tight, send me
some word."
My pre-trial hearing went painfully slow. Before my trial
began, Sparky was long gone to the joint, and Norma was
scheduled to follow her on a parole violation. We never dis-
cussed her leaving, except for the first time, where we both
ended up boo-hooing like two babies. After that, we acted
as if her leaving was of no great importance to either of us.
I knew I would miss her terribly. However, I learned from
Sparky's departure that I would recover. Losing friends was
a normal part of pulling time.
The bus from the women's prison always came on Thurs-
day mornings. Norma and I had taken to bickering every
Wednesday evening. On Thursdays, we wouldn't even look
at each other until the shipment had gone. After a month
of this ritual, her name finally appeared on the shipment
list.
"Well, baby, this is it." Her expression was cloudy. "You
keep everything in the store . . . and take care . . ."
I fought back the tears. "Why don't you take the cash?
I'll keep the goodies . . . There's enough to maintain the
business . . ."
She agreed, as real money was useful anywhere. I
watched in silence while she packed a brown paper bag
with necessities; toothbrush, toothpaste, comb and ciga-
rettes. I ached to tell her I would miss her and that I would
never forget her as long as I lived, but I knew the spoken
words would make all of our defenses crumble.
"You take care of yourself, you hear?" she mumbled,
with her head bent over the bag. "Don't let me hear no kinda
shit about you either . . ."
"You won't . . . Norma . . .?" I almost choked on my
uneven words. Finally, I decided that people shouldn't have
to hide the things they felt. "I wish I was going with you!" I
blurted.
She looked straight at me, first with the Norma-look I
had encountered on our first meeting, but it wouldn't work
and she knew it. "Stop talking crazy, dizmo." She smiled
lovingly and ruffled my hair, like my mama used to do.
"we'll see each other again. You can be with that!"
"All ladies for the bus! Up front! NOW!"
"Well, that's my horse in the chute." She exhaled heavily.
"My hair even?" She turned her back to me.
I didn't reach for my usual pat. Instead, I had to wipe
the blinding tears away with the back of my hand. Norma
peered over her shoulder. She touched my face with her
hand.
"Bye, baby . . . You . . ." Her demeanor began to fall
apart, but before it did, she snatched up her bag and hur-
ried out. She didn't look back.
I took over as the new trustee, which meant I was the
one who swept the tank and performed little odds and ends,
in return for a dress with two stripes and a pass to T.V. ev-
ery night. The remainder of that day when Norma left I
stayed in the cell with my face buried in the lousy mystery
she had given me on my first day. Mainly, I thought about
her and I cried.
I woke the next morning with the realization that it was
time to get my head together. I was on my bunk smoking,
when a new bunch of bookings came onto the tier. One fish
in particular caught my eye, because it was obvious that she
had never been in the slammers before. I saw the same
frightened look I remembered carrying in with me. I stood
up and leaned against my doorway, as B.B. began assigning
cells. When she came to the young girl, I motioned to have
her put in my cell.
The frightened fugitive from juvenile hall walked my
way and I scrutinized her closely. This in turn caused her
to check herself out, mainly to see if she still had her dress
on. I smirked. She jammed her hands into her pockets self-
consciously. I pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered
her one. She took it, hesitating, then swallowed hard.
"Hi . . . I'm Alowese . . . Alowese Friggit . . ."
I stepped aside to let her past. "Ima Fibbon here." Come
on in and make yourself at home. No sense standing on the
freeway, acting like some kinda vagrant . . ."
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End of story.
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