Andy Dufresne, who crawled through a riverof shit and came out clean on the other side. Andy Dufresne, headed for thePacific.

Those of us who knew him best talk abouthim often, I swear, the stuff he pulled. Sometimes it makes me sad, though,Andy being gone. I have to remind myself that some birds aren’t meant to becaged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part ofyou knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice. But still, the place youlive in is that much more drab and empty that they’re gone. I guess I just missmy friend.

Forty years I’ve been asking permission topiss. I can’t squeeze a drop without say-so. There’s a harsh truth to face, noway I’m going to make it on the outside. All I do anymore is think of ways tobreak my parole, so maybe they’d send me back. Terrible thing, to live in fear,Brooks Hatlen knew it, knew it all too well. All I want is to be back wherethings make sense, where I won’t have to be afraid all the time. Only one thingstops me, a promise I made to Andy.