Part 2

Chapter 1

           ThenursinghomewhereIamcrossingmylastbunchoft’sanddottingmylastmessofi’siscalledGeorgiaPines.It’saboutsixtymilesfromAtlantaandabouttwohundredlight-yearsfromlifeasmostpeoplepeopleundertheageofeighty,let’ssayliveit.Youwhoarereadingthiswanttobecarefulthatthereisn’taplacelikeitwaitinginyourfuture.It’snotacruelplace,notforthemostpart;there’scableTV,thefood’sgood(althoughthere’sdamnedlittleamancanchew),butinitsway,it’sasmuchofakillingbottleasEBlockatColdMountaineverwas.

           There’sevenafellowherewhoremindsmealittleofPercyWetmore,whogothisjobontheGreenMilebecausehewasrelatedtothegovernorofthestate.Idoubtifthisfellowisrelatedtoanyoneimportant,eventhoughheactsthatway.BradDolan,hisnameis.He’salwayscombinghishair,likePercywas,andhe’salwaysgotsomethingtoreadstuffedintohisbackpocket.WithPercyitwasmagazineslikeArgosyandMen’sAdventure;withBradit’stheselittlepaperbackscalledGrossJokesandSickJokes.He’salwaysaskingpeoplewhytheFrenchmancrossedtheroadorhowmanyPolacksittakestoscrewinalightbulborhowmanypallbearersthereareataHarlemfuneral.LikePercy,Bradisadimwitwhothinksnothingisfunnyunlessit’smean.

           SomethingBradsaidtheotherdaystruckmeasactuallysmart,butIdon’tgivehimalotofcreditforit;evenastoppedclockisrighttwiceaday,theproverbhasit.

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