Nick de Conti was a reknown fifteenth century explorer and cartographer. While he had his share of peculiarities, he doesn't seem to have desired to explore other men's bodies. Of course, if you're into that sort of thing, to each his own. The map-making explorer has a gang of descendants. Some of Nick's relatives seem to live on *1 street in the town of *. 1 Mikey Conti (he doesn't use the "de") is a Pennsylvania prison guard. He's a sweet fellow. Some people seem to call him "Bunny," no doubt because he's so adorable. For some reason, Bunny tries hard to attract my attention. Somehow, I never thought of myself as being quite that attractive. You know how grade-schoolers on a playground will do obnoxious things to attract the attention of someone they admire? Bunny has his own version. In April he whispered to me, he almost cooed. He confided that I was "ugly," I should take care of myself. He opined that he was going to call me "shit balls." "Shit balls?" what a strange metaphor. Why would a man be concerned with my balls, shitty or otherwise? It seemed more than a little odd that one man should care about how pretty (or not pretty) another fellow was. Since we'd never before conversed, I figured he was, shall we say, "odd." His "shit balls" epithet mystified me, but sounded like sexual harassment. "Odd" prison guards do a lot of that kind of stuff. He returned a few minutes later assuring me that he was going to help me "get dead!" Such an overt death threat was a tad extreme even for a Pennsylvania prison guard. I took it to be nothing but hollow bravado. Bunny didn't seem to be the kind of fellow to kill anyone. I surmised that he was simply trying to get my attention. Soon thereafter someone stole a miniature lighter from my cell, a trivial, meaningless little thing. Since the explorer's descendant was the only one working and since it took a guard's key to get into my cell, I had my suspicions about who was trying to provoke my attention. After a few months, Bunny tried again. Knowing I have a very bad heart, he startled me. I suppose he was hoping to provoke an attack. Trying to be sympathetic to his unusual fixations, I explained that startling me with a scream wasn't necessary. It might precipitate health problems. Then he told me "well, DIE, then!" Bunny then expanded his efforts. He started touching me. For some odd reason he found excuses to feel me. Nothing overtly improper, you understand, just feeling over my body. Remember that lots of guards pat down prisoners. Bunny seemed to enjoy doing it. I pretty much ignored Mister Conti. I figured he simply wanted my attention and, no doubt, wanted to provoke me to respond to him. Frankly, it was a little embarrassing and pathetic. Bunny finally got an ideal opportunity to attract my attention. He and another guard came to search my cell. Bunny's sidekick seemed perhaps a little slow. He'd clearly agreed to trash my possessions and to seize valuable property. When he actually started to ransack the cell, however, he displayed an unnatural fascination with lotions, ointments and my medications. I take a lot of medication. The guard seemed to feel that it should be illegal. For all that, he couldn't quite bring himself to be completely unprofessional. He didn't wreck my personal property. He just pawed around like a scavenger wondering what they could take to harm me. Mikey Conti made up for his partner. He raped my personal property. He made a great mess of my important legal and personal papers. He must have figured that that would get my attention. I could be wrong, but I finally concluded that he wanted, or maybe he needed, me to write something about him, or to respond to him. Bunny and "Mc" stole my typewriter ribbons. To be fair, the prison calls it "confiscation." Their aim was simply to deprive me of the ribbons, thereby limiting my ability to write. To them, the best part was that it would injure me financially. The ribbons were worth about $80. To petty persons, petty things are important. The next day, Bunny was back. He had the drug dog with him. It's a beautiful golden retriever, but it was wet and smelled worst than a bunny. The golden retriever pretended to sniff around for dope, not something I care about. She was more interested in my Milky Way bars, however. So, I want to give Mikey Conti what he seems to want. He's really a sweet, sweet fellow. He deserves your attention and interest. As the Irish say, he's a darling of a guy. 1 Look it up for yourself at Your Right to Know. Rebecca's Bargain Antiques Collectible Vintage Photos Fine Prints - Old Maps Sheet Music - Old Books Elegant Antiques and Collectibles "The difference between me and a surrealist is I'm a surrealist" Salvador Dali, 1968 You are welcome to use or republish any of our material. Please give www.prisoners.com credit as the source. Return to the Public Enemies Menu. Return to the Glimpse of Prison Life Menu. 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