[ Michael takes a big bite out of a butter tart. It's sweet. Sweeter than he remembers. Eating prison food long enough, you start to forget what real food tastes like. The texture is off. The flavour, too. If you're inside long enough, taste, like freedom, becomes a fantasy.
Then when you get out, when you're finally past the bars, and on your two feet, nothing is the same.
He closes his eyes, licks the filling away from his lips, and finishes the rest in a second bite. Michael doesn't want to believe prison changed him. In his mind, he'd never truly been a prisoner. Just a man doing the right thing in the wrong place.
Michael slips the other tart into his pocket. Quickly, discreetly, like the thief he won't admit to being. ]
My brother always said to 'get while the getting's good', Who knows how long this will last.
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Then when you get out, when you're finally past the bars, and on your two feet, nothing is the same.
He closes his eyes, licks the filling away from his lips, and finishes the rest in a second bite. Michael doesn't want to believe prison changed him. In his mind, he'd never truly been a prisoner. Just a man doing the right thing in the wrong place.
Michael slips the other tart into his pocket. Quickly, discreetly, like the thief he won't admit to being. ]
My brother always said to 'get while the getting's good', Who knows how long this will last.