I’m tired, boss. Tired of being on the road, lonely as a sparrow in the rain. I’m tired of never having me a buddy to be with, to tell me where we’s going to, coming from, or why. Mostly, I’m tired of people being ugly to each other. I’m tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world, every day. There’s too much of it. It’s like pieces of glass in my head, all the time.[to Paul]
Usually, death row is called the Last Mile. We called ours the Green Mile. The floor was the color of faded limes.
Please, boss, don’t put that thing over my face, don’t put me in the dark. I’s afraid of the dark.[to Paul]