“I didn’t mean to say ‘f**k like rabbits,’” the Prisoner says. “Sorry about that. I get carried away thinking about Sam. She was hot. And it’s been a long time.” He shakes his head.
“Don’t worry about it,” the Chaplain says, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve heard much worse since I’ve been here.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
“Can I ask you a question?” the Chaplain says.
The Prisoner shrugs. He rolls to his side on the cot and holds his head up with his hand.
“Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Why not?”
“It’s just. I don’t know,” the Chaplain says. “I wonder what the point of it is.”
The Prisoner rolls onto his back again. The Chaplain wishes he could lie on the cot for a bit, wishes the Prisoner would take the chair.
“I have twelve hours. What the f**k else should I talk about?”
“Nine.”
