The man next doorI first met Peter Rusch in October 2022 on North Compound, Unit 2-B Right. I had just been transferred there after a tactical search team (TST) raid on my housing unit. Employees had gotten a tip that I had a contraband item, and since staff generally don’t approve of my writing — often about the injustices of prison — they jumped at the chance to put me in administrative segregation, or ad-seg, basically solitary. I arrived with nothing but the clothes on my back.Peter was living in the cell next to mine. I could see him when we were both outside our cells and speak to him through the walls. He was tall and thin, with long dark brown hair and a scraggly beard, with glasses perched on his face. He reminded me of Shaggy from Scooby Doo. He seemed to know everyone on the unit. He had been in ad-seg for months, I learned later — but never knew why — which was hard on a guy like Peter, who was widely known to have mental health issues. I’d heard that he also tried to commit suicide before.Two things stood out about Peter immediately: his kindness towards other incarcerated men, and his hostility towards the staff.When I was first brought onto the unit, I had no shower slippers, only sneakers. After two days, I finally got permission to shower. I stood there, uncertain, unsure how I was supposed to step into a communal shower with my only shoes.An officer shrugged. “You wanna get in or what?”From the next cell, Peter called out, “Give him my shoes.”The officer refused. Peter cursed at him. Eventually, the officer opened the hatch and allowed Peter to pass his slippers through the port.Later, after I returned from the shower, Peter softened his voice. “You good, big bro?” he asked. “They are a**holes. Don’t worry about it. Let me know if you need anything.”Lending me his slippers was a small and ordinary kindness, the kind that becomes rare in places designed to erase it.