Jimmy did let on that he didn’t always tell the truth and I have to hand that to him but I trusted him anyways and afterward I felt like a lamb being taken to slaughter who’s been warned ahead of time that his throat is gonna be slit but goes anyway. Anyways, Jim talked me into that goddamn bank scheme. I should’ve split right then and there. I knew it was trouble right away. You see, the wheel man, a Puerto Rican junkie named Rico, was obviously unreliable. He bullshitted us into believing he could drive getaway, and like slobbering fools addled on cough medicine we took his stupid bait. You know me. I have a weak spot for both junkies and Puerto Ricans so I was shamed – if that’s the right word – into giving old Rico a big fat pass. Now, here in San Quentin, the true minds of both Jim and this whole rotten heist are revealed in a shitstorm of nauseating – and I mean nauseating – clarity.