My Night in Jail

As the cell door swings open, I’m greeted by what I can only assume is a giant. This seems like a fair assumption, as the man standing in front of me is at least 6’7” tall and must weigh over 300 lbs. But I do not run, because he greets me with a smile and therefore I deduce that he must be a friendly giant.

“Hello, I’m Luke Jelly,” the giant says in a thick Yorkshire accent. I can already tell I’m going to like him.

We exchange courtesies and as I glance around the room, I find myself instantly impressed with prison living. It is, in a way, what I imagine Martha Stewart’s cell would look like. The colors are muted and zen, and there’s a small wooden desk nestled in the corner on which weary prisoners may write their loved ones. If it weren’t for the stark iron bars which currently adorn the windows, we could easily be in a bed & breakfast in some quaint seaside village.

Snapping back to real life, the giant informs me that he's already taken the bottom bunk and asks if I would mind sleeping on the top one. This seems fair enough, as top bunks in prisons aren’t generally designed with giants in mind, so I decide not to mention my tendency to hurl myself out of bunk beds in my sleep and instead nod in agreement.

As the giant crawls into bed, I place my hands on the cold iron bars of our cell door and a slight smile begins to form on my lips. For a hostel housed in a former prison, there's something oddly comforting about this place. I feel tingly at the prospect of all the adventures that will be waiting for me come morning. Yes, I could be at home right now, nestled in my familiar bed, hot water bottle tucked under one arm. But in all honesty, I’d rather be here, embracing the unknown in my small prison cell in Slovenia with a friendly giant named Luke Jelly.

And with that, it’s time for lights out.