My sympathies, friend. You've no manner of luck at all.
— Well, at least you're going to get what you've always wanted.
— And what's that?
— Well, you tried to hang yourself twice. Now the King is gonna do it for you.
— I've been a fucking idiot. I haven't appreciated nothing, John.
— Are you fucking repenting or something?
— Drawing. I used to be good at drawing.
— Arthur, please, for God's sake, I don't need this.
— I should have listened more in class.
— What fucking class? You were never there.
— I used to draw horses. Stallions. Great big ones. They looked real. I should have done more with me life, John. Good things. Even Ada said it wasn't my fault.
— Arthur, will you listen? They're not gonna hang you.
— Says who?
— Tommy.
— And how is Houdini gonna get me out of this?
Zec was a word. And so is Chelovek. It's a transliteration of their word for human being. Zec Chelovek means prisoner-human being. Like Prisoner Man.
In prison a man will do most anything to keep his mind occupied.
Everybody in here's innocent. Didn't you know that?
— Solitary.
— Why?
— For protection.
— I don't need protection.
— Protection for them.
You've chosen a magnificent prison. But it is a prison, nonetheless. Set one foot outside, and you're mine!
The first night's the toughest. No doubt about it. They march you in, naked as the day you were born, skin burning and half-blind from that delousing shit they throw on you. And when they put you in that cell, and those bars slam home... that's when you know it's for real. Old life blown away in the blink of an eye. Nothing left, but all the time in the world to think about it.