Suddenly, I was face to face with Holbrooke. The warden quoted a few passages from the Bible and grabbed his cane.  He asked me how it went with the parole board, and I told him I was declined.

"They want to hear rehabilitation, not someone's art." Holbrooked bellowed.

"If someone is creating something that may earn them an income, then when they get out, wouldn't that be rehabilitation?" I said trying to reason with Holbrooke.

"If Vinny and David's art is not worth anything, then why are you holding it?" I shouted back at Holbrooke.

"It is the property of the prison." Holbrooke barked back.

"Are you going to start up the arts program again." I asked.

"No."

"I don't know if I will be able to see you again, so I'm going to tell you about something happened over a year ago. Maybe I'll tell you at another time."

"Suit yourself. Is there anything else you want to say?" Holbrooke inquires.

"After the beating from Schultz and the other Buddies, I was in a coma for three months. After I regained consciousness, I started to write like I never had before. I used to read alot, but I was never much of a writer. But lately, I have been writing so much that I thought there might be something to this. I began to have dreams about Ernest Hemingway, and I decided I am Hemingway reincarnated. I wanted to know if you want to see what I have written.?"

"No, Chambers, I don't."

"So you don't want to help us through our art, you just want us to bang out license plates until our sentence is over."

"That's right, because you are sinners and you need to pay for your wrongs. If that means spending five years in the penitentiary, that's what you should do."

"Okay, Mr. Holbrooke, I can see we don't agree on a lot of things. I'm ready to go back to my cell."

"Schultz, take Mr. Chambers back to his cell."

 

 

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