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Kerouac. Prison is where you promise yourself the right to live, a line that saved Sutton on many long nights.
MOEHRINGER: (Reading) The guards march Sutton back to Admin. The clerk cuts him two checks: one for $146, salary for 17 years at various prison jobs, minus taxes; another for $40, the cost of a bus ticket to Manhattan. Every released prisoner gets bus fare to Manhattan.
(Reading) Sutton takes the checks. This is really happening. His heart begins to throb, his leg, too. They're throbbing at each other like the male and female leads in an Italian opera. The guards march him back his cell. You've got 15 minutes, they tell him, handing him a shopping bag.
(Reading) He stands in the middle of his cell, his eight-by-six home for the last 17 years. Is it possible that he won't sleep here tonight, that he'll sleep in a soft bed with clean sheets and a real pillow and no demented souls above and below him howling and cursing and pleading with impotence and fury? The sound of men in cages, nothing can compare.
(Reading) He sets the shopping bag on the desk and carefully packs the manuscript of his novel, then the spiral notebooks from his creative writing classes, then his copies of Dante, Shakespeare, Plato, then Kerouac. Prison is where you promise yourself the right to live, a line that saved Sutton on many long nights
Sutton': America's 1920s, Bank-Robbing 'Robin Hood