Sully strikes again

The following is an excerpt from Part One:

“Stand by for chow,” blares the PA system. Electronic buzzers vibrate on door latches. Like starting gates at the dog track, they all pop open to release the animals. One of our neighbors flushes and their refuse fills our toilet. José and I almost collide as I hop up from my cozy cubby of comfort and he, down from his suspended steel stretcher of sleeping bliss. Everyone filters out to the landing in front of our rat holes, awaiting the queue.
“What the hell are you doing up there?” resounds a deafening roar from our beloved C/O Sulliman. One of his subjects has strayed from the first to the second level.

“Chill man, I’m jes borrowin’ a piece a papah.”

“You don’t belong up there!”

“Aight, dude. Chill. Man, you’re actin’ like a child, yo.” A couple of guys half-snicker. Most of us just hold our breath.

Sully stammers, stutters, and shakes all over. “Give me that ID,” he finally spits out. It’s amazing that he doesn’t lose his dentures. The unrepentant sinner removes the name badge from his chest while sauntering down the steps. Sully reaches out and yanks it from him. “You’re on lockdown for the rest of the week.” He fumes for a few more seconds and furiously calls out, “And the rest of you fuckin’ dummies are locked down for the rest of the fuckin’ day.” He goes slamming into the mod door, forgetting to signal its release. Then it buzzes; he pushes it violently with both arms and makes his exit. We all glance around at each other, some shaking heads, others emitting light laughter or quietly blurting hate comments.