I sit in a prison cell. It's only 5 feet wide. I can stretch out my arms and place both palms flat against the walls. There is a 6-foot metal bunk with a thin, hard, plastic-covered mat on one wall. I cover it with the old, often torn-up and stained sheets that are communally used and exchanged every Tuesday morning at 4 a.m. if you are awake. They will pass you by if not, and they hope that is the case. The cell is about 8 feet deep, only about a foot-and-a-half longer than the bunk frame. A stainless steel combination toilet and sink is bolted to the concrete back wall in the corner opposite the bunk. The cell door is on the side with the toilet, so the only open floor space is between the bunk and the wall, and the cell door and the toilet. I can take three small steps, and I often pace back and forth. The view looks out on a walkway, what we call the run, where about 10 feet from the cell front is a wall of windows that runs the full length of the cell block.The cell front has bars. It has been covered with a steel plate with quarter-sized holes that you can put your fingers through, but that is all. It is a security measure, they say, to prevent occupants from reaching out of the bars to grab, strike, or for that matter even motion to someone for help.These cells are designed to confine prisoners for extreme terms of isolation in harsh, inhumane, and animalistic conditions. They are used to keep their captives for years, even decades. I have personally been kept in these dungeons like tombs for over eight long years, and I have been given no hope of ever being let out of this type of incarceration.At the prison where I am, there are nine cellblocks with four floors each, having 21 cells on each row. At most times, all 84 cells are occupied. There are over 750 prisoners like me housed in this status. Some have been locked up in administrative segregation only a short time. Others have been here far longer than I have. I know of over a dozen men who have been in Seg over 20 years.