This is it. The beginning of something. Certainly. The end of something too. The Chaplain is standing up straight, alert, staring down at the Prisoner as he lies on the cot, talking. The Prisoner’s eyes are closed.
“Them,” he says.
“Yes, them.” The eyes now open.
“We are there, then. We are at your crime.”
“I guess we are.” The Prisoner stands and stretches. He avoids the Chaplain’s eyes.
“Why you are here. This is it.” The Chaplain says this quietly as he backs away from the Prisoner.
The Prisoner sits down on the side of the cot, leans forward and puts his head in his hands. The silence stretches between them.
The Chaplain asks, “How is your stomach feeling?”
“Believe it or not, I’m f*****g hungry again.” The Prisoner laughs. “I’m empty, man.”
“Maybe we can get you more cookies?
