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The Man in The Hat 907
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Product mockup

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The Man in The Hat 907

Magnet

Price: $3.54
Size: 3″×3″

Product details

Description

A magnet. Not a fucking mission statement.

A photo. A note. Something you want to keep in sight instead of watching it slide behind the fridge again. Small shit. Your shit.

The world is full of people trying to sell you an improved version of yourself with every goddamn object. I'm not asking you to become somebody else to stick a magnet on the fridge. Like it? Have one. Don't? Stay and read something anyway.

You don’t have to buy shit to belong here.

You. Are. Not. Alone.

The practical shit

• Made from 0.5 mm flexible vinyl
• Premium matte finish
• Magnetic black backing

Cell BlockTMiTH 907

Door's shut. You're good.News and links

CO's walkin' the tier. Keep your voice down and set a spell.What's new and where to find me.

These walls

Old Max went up in 1871, before Colorado was even a state. Prisoners cut the stone out of the hill behind it and stacked their own cells. Forty-two of them. Four years later they built the wall, because men kept walking off.

In 1889 the state moved its killing inside these walls, out of public view. First a gallows that jerked a man up instead of dropping him. Then in 1934 the gas chamber, second state in the country to try it. The warden built the first one with three chairs so he could do three at once. The last man sat in that chair in 1967. On the tier, that chair is Old Sparky. It sits in the prison museum next door now, beside the electric shock machine they used to control the problem prisoners.

Stone holds the cold. The windows sit so deep that daylight barely crawls down to the lower tiers, and the gray shadow never leaves the bunks.

Nineteen-eighty-seven. Cañon City, Colorado. Old fucking Max.
Home of Old Sparky. Yeah, the chair. Yeah. That one.
The sally port closes with a metal cough and a full-body clang.
They strip you. Delouse you. Shave you down to the stubble.
No more crosses. No more "Live, Love, Learn" bullshit.
Just stone, steel, and honesty.
They stamp the paper and speak my new name: 62927.

TMiTH

Word on the tierNews

  1. The Fuck Hat

    They call me The Man in the Hat, and that sounds like cheap campfire bullshit until you see the scruff, the posture, and the eyes running the perimeter and realize it is pure field identification. Born covered in a strangers...

  2. Shit for Your Cell

    Inside the damp, limestone gloom of C.T.C.F. Old Max, the property sheet splits your whole fuckin life down into three precise, mechanical categories: The Survival. The Escape. The Wreckage.

  3. Hoodies and Tees

    For the waitress working the third shift. The guy hauling trash. The Gangsta doin shit. The one sitting with their back to the wall while everybody else wonders why they can't just fucking relax. Folk see it, and boom, yeah....

  4. Operation Sonic Somatics

    Operation Sonic Somatics. Sound for the 3am body that's still redlining, the one that won't shut the fuck off. The door opened. The perimeter didn't disappear. Walk out of the cage, sign the fucking paper, go live your life. Like...