rtender and ask him to
bring me two straight shots of Jack Daniels - one for me and one for Andy Dufresne.
Other than a beer or two, they‘ll be the first drinks I‘ve taken as a free man since 1938.
Then I am going to tip the bartender a dollar and thank him kindly. I will leave the bar
and walk up Spring Street to the Greyhound terminal there and buy a bus ticket to El
Paso by way of New York City. When I get to El Paso, I‘m going to buy a ticket to
McNary. And when I get to McNary, I guess I‘ll have a chance to find out if an old crook
like me can find a way to float across the border and into Mexico.
Sure I remember the name. Zihuatanejo. A name like that is just too pretty to forget
I find I am excited, so excited I can hardly hold the pencil in my trembling hand. I think it
is the excitement that only a free man can feel, a free man starting a long journey whose
conclusion is uncertain.
I hope Andy is down there.
I hope I can make it across the border.
I hope to see my friend and shake his hand.
I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams.
I hope.