Chapter 6

           Wewerebackontheblockbyone-fifteenorso(exceptforPercy,whohadbeenorderedtocleanupthestorageroomandwassulkinghiswaythroughthejob),mewithareporttowrite.Idecidedtodoitatthedutydesk;ifIsatinmymorecomfortableofficechair,I’dlikelydozeoff.Thatprobablysoundspeculiartoyou,givenwhathadhappenedonlyanhourbefore"butIfeltasifI’dlivedthreelifetimessinceeleveno’clockthepreviousnight,allofthemwithoutsleep.

           JohnCoffeywasstandingathiscelldoor,tearsstreamingfromhisstrange,distanteyes—itwaslikewatchingbloodrunoutofsomeunhealablebutstrangelypainlesswound.Closertothedesk,Whartonwassittingonhisbunk,rockingfromsidetoside,andsingingasongapparentlyofhisowninvention,andnotquitenonsense.AswellasIcanremember,itwentsomethinglikethis:

           "Bar-be-cue!Meandyou!Stinky,pinky,phew-phew-phew!Itwasn’tBillyorPhiladelphiaPhilly,itwasn’tJackieorRoy!Itwasawarmlittlenumber,ahotcucumber,bythenameofDelacroix!"

           "Shutup,youjerk,"Isaid.

           Whartongrinned,showinghismouthfulofdingyteeth.Hewasn’tdying,atleastnotyet;hewasup,happy,practicallytap-dancing."Comeoninhereandmakeme,whydon’tyou?"hesaidhappily,andthenbegananotherverseof"TheBarbecueSong,"makingupwordsnotquiteatrandom.Therewassomethinggoingoninthere,allright.