I would like to end with my favorite Mark Twain quote. "Don't you worry your pretty little mind. People throw rocks at things that shine and life makes love look hard." (Ellen Degeneres)

When I was alone in the bedroom I called Tommy. Actually I called reception and they connected me to Tommy. Just when I would forget where I was there was a stark reminder like monitored calls that shouted: “You're a prisoner!”

Tommy did something stupid. He told me he had made friends in the clink who offered him in on an opportunity of a lifetime: the biggest heroin transfer in the history of the world. It would be swimming through the American economy for the rest of our lives. Our grandchildren would shoot up this heroin. I had to pretend to be the disinterested recovering addict but I told him to come by next Sunday and we would talk.

I had a dilemma on my hands. I knew what was right and what was wrong now. I wasn't some stupid kid anymore. I knew the sorts of things that happened when I did shit like this. I knew better but I couldn't deny the euphoric feeling of adrenaline pumping through my veins just thinking about how exciting it would be. Either way, I had to get out.