i am the small cat

Paris crawled to freedom through
five hundred yards of shit-smelling
foulness I can't even imagine. Or
maybe I just don't want to.



Five hundred yards. The length of

five football fields. Just shy of
half a mile.



I like to think the last thing that
went through the warden's head...other than
that bullet...was to wonder how the
hell Paris ever got the

best of him.

I hope I can make it across the
border to Zihuatanejo. I hope to see my friend
and shake her hand. I hope the
Pacific is as blue as it has been
in my dreams.

i am the small cat