Usually, death row is called the Last Mile. We called ours the Green Mile. The floor was the color of faded limes.
Sometimes the past just catches up with you, whether you want it to or not.
I’ve done some things in my life I’m not proud of, but this is the first time I’ve ever felt in real danger of hell.
What happens on the Mile, stays on the Mile. Always has.
We each owe a death. There are no exceptions. But, oh, God, sometimes the Green Mile seems so long.
