02x04 - Losing Your Appeal

[bunniefuu]

[tense jazzy music]

♪ ♪

- Some people say

the Bible is the
greatest story ever told.

Uh-uh.

The best story is,

boy meets girl,

boy loses girl,

boy gets girl.

[chuckles]

Yeah.

Boy meets girl.

That first moment when every
corpuscle in your d*ck

is percolating.

Of course, not everybody
has the same impulse.

[gate buzzes]

- What the hell are you guys
doing in my room?

- Richie boy, where you
been hiding all day, huh?

- Get off my bunk.

- I want you to
suck my d*ck.

- Get lost.

- You're a f*g.

You suck d*ck.
So what's the problem?

- I suck the dicks I want
to suck, so f*ck you.

- Richie, Richie,

you shouldn't be
talking that way to me.

- [taps on glass]

Is there a problem,
gentlemen?

- No.

[indistinct shouting]

- Ugh!
[groaning]

- You better
watch it, Richie.

What happened to
Alexander Vogel,

it's gonna happen to you.

You're gonna wake up tomorrow

hanging by your ankles.

- You k*lled Vogel?

- Yeah,
me and Schillinger.

Now suck my f*cking d*ck.

- Prisoner number 98H462,

Richard Hanlon.

Convicted, June 3, '98

possession and distribution
of controlled substance.

- [gurgling]

- Sentence--eight years.

Up for parole in five.

[gate buzzes]

- Hey, Richie.

- Yeah?

- Me next?

- What?

- I was watching you play
Markie's pudd horn--me next.

- f*ck you.

- Aah!

- Oh, sh*t!
- Oh, sh*t!

[alarm ringing,
buzzers sounding]

- Who punched him?
- Hanlon.

[indistinct chatter]

- McManus, I swear,
he was coming on to me.

I shoved him away.

- You're going to be
charged with m*rder.

- f*ck.

- Officer.
- sh*t, sh*t, wait.

If I give you
some information,

what kind of deal
can I get in return?

- Well, that depends
on your information.

- It's about a m*rder,

a real m*rder.

- A m*rder here in Oz?

- Alexander Vogel.

- Vogel.

- Yeah, if I tell
you who k*lled Vogel,

can I get a lesser charge?

- Well, that depends
on if your information sticks.

- Here we are again,
Schillinger.

Only this time I got proof
that you k*lled Vogel.

- Proof?

- Your friend Mac confessed.

- Horse sh*t.

- He told another prisoner
that you and he

did the deed together.

- Oh, a jailhouse confession?

[chuckles]
Please, Mac will deny it,

and it's the two of us,

our word, against
whoever the jabber is.

- Mac's in the other room right
now spilling his guts out.

- Like I said, horse sh*t.

And even if he was,

do you think I would admit
to you that I did it?

In your wildest
f*cking dreams,

would I ever give
you that satisfaction?

- No.

Take him up.

- [sighs]

- Yeah?

- Listen up
and listen good.

Some friends of mine
are very upset

that you tried to pin
a certain m*rder on them.

For that,
you're a dead man.

- Oh, Christ.

- However, they're offering
you an alternative.

Since you're already
in here for one k*lling,

they suggest you also confess
to Alexander Vogel's m*rder.

Take your chances
with court.

At best, you get life.

At worst, you get
the death penalty.

If you get life,

my friends will
let you live.

If not, you're
a dead man anyway.

So choose.

- Tell Glynn
I want to see him.

I have a confession to make.

- Good boy.

[tense percussive tones]

♪ ♪

[gate buzzes]

♪ ♪

[gate buzzes]

♪ ♪

- Augustus?

- Oh.

- It's almost time
for the hearing.

- I got lost in
my head, man.

- What were
you thinking?

- [grunts]
I was thinking that,

if all goes well,

I might actually
be rolling out of Oz...

that by sundown,

I could be home
with my wife.

I could be in my house,

drinking a cold beer, watching
the Yankees and the Orioles.

You know what I'm saying?

You know, by sundown,

I could actually
be a free man.

- Yeah.

- [exhales sharply]

- Hey.

- Formal hearing
of case number 966133,

Hill vs. the State.

- Mr. Said.

- Your Honor,

it is already a matter
of public record

that Richard Kibler,

while serving as a judge

on the state criminal court,

took money in exchange

for giving out more
lenient sentences

to three convicted murderers.

- Mr. Said claims bias
against his client

because he neither gave bribes
or knew of that possibility.

But that, in itself,

is not bias.

The defendant has got
to show the actuality,

not the appearance of bias.

- At the same time that Kibler
was accepting bribes,

my client
came before him.

Now, my client
was found guilty

and sentenced by Kibler
to life imprisonment

with the possibility
of parole in 20 years.

- Your Honor,

Augustus Hill m*rder*d
a police officer in cold blood.

- Objection.

- The nature of his crime has
direct bearing on his sentence.

- Overruled.

- Mr. Said has asked the court
for an a*t*matic reversal

of Hill's conviction

due to the circumstance
of Judge Kibler's conviction.

- Due to the circumstances
of corruption,

that my client was denied
his fundamental right

to a fair trial

presided over
by an impartial judge,

and that therefore,
Augustus Hill

is entitled to an a*t*matic
reversal of his conviction.

- But there is no precedent

for the court
to make such a ruling.

In fact, to do so

would, in effect,
create a rule of law

that is beyond
the court's jurisdiction.

- Mr. Said, call
your first witness.

- Augustus Hill.

- Do you swear to tell
the truth, the whole truth

and nothing but the truth,
so help you God?

- I do.

[bell ringing]

- How's it going?

- I can't tell yet.
[scoffs]

This guy, Fortunato,
he's, uh--he's tough.

He's good.

- And Said?

- He gets overruled a lot.

I don't know.
It's funny, man.

I'm more nervous now than
I was at my first trial.

- Makes sense.

Then you'd never seen
the inside of a prison.

Incarceration was
merely a concept.

Now you know
the reality.

You know the price
if the verdict goes against you.

- Augustus,

we need a smoking g*n.

We need to find
a convicted felon

who was asked
to give a bribe,

didn't, and then was
sentenced unfairly.

- How do you know
that one exists?

- And if he does,

how do you find him?

It's a needle
in a haystack.

- Quickest way
to find a needle--

burn the haystack.

- What the f*ck
does that mean?

[computer beeping, whirring]

♪ ♪

- [taps on glass]

Here we go, my brother--

a list of names of all the
murderers convicted by Kibler.

Now, if one of them testifies
that they didn't offer a bribe,

and we show that they
were sentenced unfairly,

we prove bias.

- We ain't got time to contact
all these people, man.

We in the middle
of the trial.

We should have thought
of this a week ago, man.

- We've already told you,

no special phone privileges.

- Well, let me use the fax
to contact the men on the list.

- No.

You think I'm gonna
help you turn this prison

into the "People's Court"?

You win this one,

you'll be reopening the case
of every prisoner in here.

- And is that wrong,

to strive for justice?

- Justice?
- Yeah.

- Crooked judge or not,

Hill sh*t a cop.

Officer.

- Whether I win or lose
this case, Warden,

I am never gonna stop helping
my brothers fight for freedom.

- Uh-huh.

[indistinct chatter]

- He said no, again.

So I'm gonna
call my publisher,

get him to contact the lawyers
of all the men convicted.

- Still going to take
the one thing we ain't got--

time.

- Then we create time.

If the decision goes
against us, I'll appeal.

- On what grounds?

- The only reason Judge Lema

is overruling
all my objections is racism.

[bell ringing]

- Oh, it couldn't be

because most of your objections
are stupid, right?

No, it couldn't
because maybe, you know,

you not as good a lawyer
as you think you are.

- You want to replace me?

You want to get Beecher
to take up our cause?

- "Our cause"?

This is not our cause!
This is my f*cking life!

I am not you, man.

I don't want to be a martyr
or a f*cking saint!

All I want to do is get
out of here and be free!

Either you can do that,
or you leave me the f*ck alone!

God damn it!

♪ ♪

- Does anyone else
have anything to say

before I give my ruling?

- Yes, Your Honor, I do.

- Make it snappy, Mr. Said.

I've got a long ride home--
rush hour.

- Because my client
and I are prisoners

and certain restrictions
are placed

upon our time
and our resources,

we do not have the opportunity
to obtain further evidence.

- Duly noted.

- One more thing, Your Honor.

We'll probably never know
what Judge Kibler

thought
about Augustus Hill...

But we have
a pretty clear picture

about what he thinks
about justice.

- Thank you.

To the State's argument

that because there
is no precedent

for reversing the conviction,

that this court

would be ruling
beyond its jurisdiction,

I say bunk.

How do precedents
become precedents

unless some judge sets one?

However,

the State's view

that the defendant
must show

more than the appearance
of bias rings true.

I have reviewed
the transcript

of Mr. Hill's trial
thoroughly.

At no point

did Judge Kibler,

in word or deed,

act beyond the limits
of the rules

of judicial procedure.

And the sentencing,

given the severity
of the convictions,

does not appear
to be unduly cruel...

or unusual.

Therefore, I rule
in favor of the State

and deny
Augustus Hill's motion

for a reversal
of his conviction.

[thud echoes]

- Do not lose faith,
my brother.

This is just
the beginning.

- No, it's over.

- Augustus--

- No, I can't handle
this sh*t anymore.

- I told you before,

these things
take time.

The law is very--
- It's not the law, man.

It's not the law...

that I can't handle.

It's the hope.

The hope is...

crushing me, man.

- Hope...
hope is all we have.

- [sighs]
No.

All I have is Oz.

♪ ♪

[bell ringing]

- All right, who
wants to go next?

- Hey, c-can I read a poem?
- Yeah. Definitely.

- Just something I wrote.

"The inside of my cell,

"see me be seduced
by its serenity

"in my search for privacy

"behind the locked cages.

"The makers
of the rules rise,

"but peace dies,

"curses is kisses,

"and adoration is disses

"in this beautifully
disgusting place where I,

I see by forever
call it Emerald City"--

- f*gg*t, you done
with your faggotry yet?

- Who you calling f*gg*t?

- I'm calling you
a f*cking f*gg*t, you f*gg*t!

- Hey, hey, hey, hey.
- Yo!

- Now, you already started
one fight in here.

Next one's gonna
be in Gen Pop.

Step back.

Go on,
get out of here.

- Wangler needs attitude
realignment, you know?

- Well, he's pissed off

because I'm forcing
him to come to class.

- I don't get it--he was doing
so well, learning how to read,

and now he's just
shut off completely.

- Well, Adebisi's
giving him heat,

so I'm trying to give him
room to move.

What about Poet?

- The kid's got talent.

- Listen...

here's the tape recorder.

You record five or six
of his poems,

give this back to me.

- Why?

- I got a plan.

[knock at door]

Thank you.

Have a seat.

- What do you want, McManus?

- I finished your book
on the riot.

- I suppose you
want my autograph.

- I want to talk
to you about Poet.

There's some of his work.

I want you to contact
your publisher,

show him those poems.

- [chuckles wryly]

Do you remember the first time
I stood in your office, McManus?

You told me that my--

quote,

my celebrity status
wouldn't get me

any extra advantages
inside of Oz.

And you reminded me
of that last week,

and now here we are

with you taking
advantage of me,

of my status.

- This isn't
about you, Said.

This is about Poet,
his future.

- No, it's also about you.

Having one
of your students published

will get you press coverage
for your education program.

You'd look like a hero.

- You have the opportunity
to help someone here,

a fellow inmate.

- I don't need you to tell me
when to help a brother.

- Look, could we just put
aside all the bullshit

between us for once?

♪ ♪

- Once.

[gate buzzes]

- [snorts]
- Let me get some of that.

- No.
- I'm looking out.

- Come on, man,
let me get some tits, man.

Come on, man.

- Hey, you haven't
paid us in weeks.

f*ck off.

- Come on, man.

- Yo, yo, go write
something, Dubois.

All right?

- [sniffs]

♪ ♪

[indistinct chatter]

- [yawns]

- You realize you've
beaten the odds in here?

You've held
on to your gift.

- Say what?

- I've spoken to my
publisher about you.

- Publisher?

- Oh, yeah.

Very interested
in your work.

- Poetry-reading f*gg*t!

Oh, yeah, come on.

Come on,
recite something, bitch.

[indistinct chatter]

- Don't doubt yourself,
my brother.

They are a lie.

Sit.

[chatter continues]

- Bitch!

[laughter]

- Let them mock you.

In the end, they will see.

- Not if I jack one of them
m*therf*ckers first, man.

- You listen to me.

You look at me, Poet.

You have a responsibility.

You have a calling.

- Man, don't feed me
none of that bullshit.

You just tell me
what the f*ck I got to do.

- Nothing.

Do nothing...

except trust me.

- As-salaam alaikum.
all: Alaikum salaam.

- Yo, Kareem, you was right.
You was right.

I'm about to get published.

- Congratulations,
my brother.

- That's great.
- Yes, yes.

- Where?

- It's an anthology of poems
called "Unheard America."

They're giving him
a featured appearance.

- Oh, that's terrific.

- And they've
giving me cake.

[laughter]

- [chuckles,
speaks native language]

- Look at that.

Now you got two.

[laughing]

Tit me, man.

Tit me, man.

- Where did you
get this, bitch?

- [snorts]

- Hey, where
did you get this?

- Poetry.

- Poetry.

Who the f*ck pays for poetry?
[laughing]

- A publishing house put some
of my work in their book.

[laughing]

- No sh*t.

Wait, wait.

Teach me to write.

Yeah, teach me to write.

- I can't teach you to write.

- I want to write rhymes
about Nigeria.

- Don't nothing rhyme
with Nigeria.

- [chuckling]

Bitch, give me that.

- [laughing]

- [snorts]

♪ ♪

- My, my, my, my, my
my-geria.

[both laughing]

What's the other one?

Help me, help me,
help me, help me.

- Cafeteria.
- Cafeteria.

- And Nigeria.
- My diarrhea.

[laughing]

- Get diarrhea.
- Diarrhea.

♪ ♪

- [laughing]
- [exclaims]

♪ ♪

- sh*t, yeah.

Yo.

What's happening, man?

- You know, I have
seen Adebisi

destroy others with
his own self-destruction.

- Man, we was just--
we was just doing laundry.

[coughs, sniffs]

We was just
doing laundry, man.

What the f*ck?

Hey, you know,

you know, you're so f*cking
clean and righteous, man.

You know what I'm saying?

I-I got demons
clawing at my ass.

- So do I, my brother, but
they can't take me down.

You must learn to fight
with your will.

That is the shield
of Allah.

- And they just keep coming.

- Delusions.

This is your reality.

Believe in his power.

Believe in his power
to keep you.

- Man, that's that
bullshit, you know?

That's that bullshit.

- Believe.

- Why?

- I have taken it upon myself

to rally a network of eminent
writers calling for your parole.

- [snickers]
My parole.

- I'm telling you,
my brother,

we're gonna turn you into
a symbol of justice in America.

You're gonna be
like the phoenix rising...

through your poetry

from the ashes
of a cr*ck house.

- A symbol, me?

sh*t.

- A crowd has gathered outside

Oswald Maximum
Security Penitentiary

in growing support
for Arnold Jackson,

an inmate whose poetry has
fomented a movement of writers

and artists demanding that
he be granted a parole review.

The campaign to free
Mr. Jackson started

with Foster Perry, the publisher
of an upcoming anthology

of marginal literature
titled "Unheard America."

Many critics are saying
this is a commercial ploy

to create a sensation
around the book,

but several figures in the arts
have committed their efforts

to Mr. Jackson's case,

claiming he is a rare talent

lost inside our country's
barbaric prison system.

- f*ck!

- Boy meets girl,
boy loses girl,

boy gets girl.

And that's
the best part, right?

After all that sh*t
that's come before,

the two lovers finally
stare into each other's eyes

and bang!

The story ends.

Only...

what happens
after boy gets down with girl?

Well, he starts
to get at her.

She starts to get to him.

Boy makes girl crazy
and vice versa.

- Man, this is great.

No work detail.

No C.O.s hassling me.

No punks up in my face.

I'm telling you, there's
an upside to dying, Doc.

- You're not dying.

The surgery was successful.

The lump in your breast
has been removed.

The chemo's doing the rest.

- Yeah, so what are the chances
of the cancer coming back?

- 92% of stage-two men are
alive after five years,

and 63% are alive
after ten years.

- I'm up for parole
in 11 years.

The way things go for me,

I'll get released, and, boom,
the tumor's back.

- You're young.

You're otherwise healthy.

You'll be okay.

[monitor beeping]

- [sniffs, groans]

♪ ♪

- Ryan O'Reily's coming back
to Emerald City today.

- Oh, yeah?

He's been in the hospital
a long f*cking time.

Must be something
really wrong with him.

- I hear O'Reily
had surgery

at Benchley Memorial, and now
he's going through chemotherapy.

- Chemo.
That's bad, man.

That sh*t does
bad sh*t to you.

- Hmm, it can also
save your life.

♪ ♪

[indistinct chatter]

- [clears throat]

What the f*ck are
you looking at?

- Nothing, Ryan.

- Get the f*ck
out of here!

[vomiting]

[coughing]

Hey, I want back
in the kitchen.

- Forget about it.

- Listen, Schibetta,
I'm not f*cking around.

- He said forget
about it, cancer boy.

[laughing]

- f*gg*t.

- Hey, O'Reily, you
trying to look like us?

- Yeah, I'm
trying to be ugly.

- Yo, people been wondering
what exactly is wrong with you.

Skez here says it's
cancer of the balls,

that the doctor
cut them off.

But I say
that can't be it...

'cause you never had
any balls to begin with.

[buzzer blaring]

[indistinct shouting]

- You know
the rules, O'Reily.

You get in a fight,
you go to the Hole.

- So send me
to the f*cking Hole.

I've been there before.

I ain't afraid.

- Yeah, well,
in your condition,

you know, you're
likely to get a cold,

then you die, and then I got
a shitload of paperwork to do.

- Ha ha.
That's funny.

- Look, Ryan, you've got
six weeks of chemo left, okay?

So we decided you can stay
in the ward until then.

- Take him to the hospital.

♪ ♪

- [chuckles]

[monitor beeping]

- [chuckles]

- Hey.
- Hey.

- How you feeling?

- Physically, fine.

But I got to tell you--

ever since riding in the van
on the way to surgery,

you know,
being on the outside,

since then,
it's all I can think about,

you know,
being free,

doing the things
that I miss,

things that
I can't do in here.

- Like what?

What do you miss most?

- Kissing.

- You miss your wife.

- I miss affection...
any kind of affection.

Like just before
the operation

when you took my hand,

the heat of your skin,

it sent a brushfire
through my body.

Funny, huh?

A simple thing like that--
fingers touching fingers?

I want to touch you.

I want to kiss you.

- Don't.

♪ ♪

- [exhales deeply]

- Hello, Gloria.

- Hey.

- What's wrong?

- What makes you think
something's wrong?

- Well, I'm a psychologist
and a nun.

Usually between the two,
there's something wrong.

- You know, in med school,

the only thing they keep
pounding into our heads--

doctors
don't show emotion.

Doctors keep their distance.

Doctors don't get involved
with a patient.

- Oh, my.

May I ask which one?

- Ryan O'Reily.
- Mm-hmm.

Why him?

Why are you attracted
to him specifically?

- I don't know.

He's handsome.

[chuckles]
He's got bullshit Irish charm.

- And breast cancer.

- [sighs]

My mom had breast cancer...

my aunt, my sister.

I'm probably gonna
get it, too.

I know what he's
going through.

- That's not love, Gloria.
That's empathy.

Want my advice?

Go home to your husband,
make love to him,

stomp these feelings
for O'Reily into the ground,

because unless you do,
you're gonna have trouble.

- [sighs]

[monitor beeping]

Well, it doesn't look like
there'll be much scarring.

How's the nausea?

- Gone.

- And your appetite?

- Back.

- Fatigue?

- Kiss me.

- No.

- Kiss me.
- No.

- Please?

Hey, you know what I know,
and you feel what I feel.

- Ryan.

Ryan!
[slap]

Officer! Take him
back to Em City.

- Fine.
[chuckles]

♪ ♪

- f*ck.

♪ ♪

- [groans]

- ♪ Hey, girl,
take a look at me ♪

♪ Let me dirty up
your mind, yeah ♪

♪ I'll strip away
your hard veneer ♪

♪ Let me see
what I can find ♪

♪ Unh, unh, unh ♪

- Oh, you are peeing.

- I'm trying.

- I have to pee.

- You're serious
about escaping from Oz

by digging a hole?

- That's why they
call me "The Mole."

I once dug my way
into a bank vault

with walls 20 feet
into the ground.

- And your offer to let me
follow you out?

- When I go, I won't
be looking back.

- I see.

If two people dig,
it'll go faster, right?

- Sure.

- I used to be
an architect.

I know about structures.

Let me help.

[urine splashing]

[tense percussive tones]

♪ ♪

- Hello, William.

Sorry about the restraints.

- Peter--
Peter Marie.

[breathes deeply]

Peter--
Peter Marie.

- Yeah, yeah,
that's right.

I thought I'd come by
so we could talk.

- Broom.

- Mm, broom...

yeah, you said
that last time to me.

- Sick.

- You said that, too.

What does it mean,
sick and broom?

- Amor.

- [sighs]

What are you
trying to tell me?

Sick, broom, amor.

Sick--
- No, no, no!

- Don't take him!
- No!

- It's all right.
- No, no, no!

- Calm down, calm down.
It's okay.

William, shh...

♪ ♪

It's all right, William.
Calm down.

Okay, we'll just
take it as slowly

as you want, okay?

We have all the time
that you need, okay?

- Street.

- Street?

- Street.

- Avenue?

- Street.

- Okay...
[clears throat]

Street.

- Look, all's I'm saying
is I don't see why

we can't start these meetings
with a prayer.

- Come on, man.
- Guys.

- Said, don't you agree?

- Prayer in itself
is meaningless

unless those who offer it
do so from true belief.

- Oh, man, enough
of this sh*t.

Can we just talk about sex?

- Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

We want to bring back
conjugals.

- I'm working
on it, fellas.

We're a long ways away.

Next.

- Yeah, I got a grievance.

- Go ahead.

- Certain guys stink.

I know some people come
from far away places

where they don't bathe,

but in America, I think
washing should be mandatory,

if only
for health code reasons.

- Take a f*cking bath
once in a while.

- You want to bath me up,
eh, Little Nino?

You like that, huh?

Soaping me up, eh?

[indistinct shouting]

- [spits]

There's your f*cking bath
right there.

There's your f*cking bath.

- All right, I guess
this meeting's adjourned.

Adebisi,
go back to your pod!

Schibetta, to my office!

- Remind me to never come
to your meetings again.

- Miguel.

- Yo.

- Sit.

- I ain't staying too long.

- You and me--
we, uh, got a lot in common.

- I don't think so.

- Well, we both
have Latin blood,

and we both peddle tits.

Me, I'm strictly a street-drug
guy--heroin, marijuana.

You, 'cause you work
in a prison hospital,

you sell pharmaceuticals.

So I'm thinking
we should combine.

- Mm, no, thanks.

- I'm willing to divide
the pie 60/40.

You know, I make a
shitload more than you.

- Why you want to be
so generous with me, man?

- I want Adebisi dead.

- What, do I--do I look
like a mook to you?

Huh?

You're offering me 60/40,

and all's I got to do
is k*ll Adebisi?

sh*t, why don't you
have him do it, huh?

- Everyone knows
I hate Adebisi.

If he turns up dead,
no one suspects you.

- That's bullshit.
That's bullshit.

No, I'll tell you
what you're thinking.

You're thinking a spic
kills the cocolo,

they end up at w*r.

No offense, no offense,
but drop f*cking dead.

♪ ♪

- Hey, papi,
I been thinking.

- Yeah?

That must be a new
experience for you, huh?

- About me and you
in business.

- sh*t, I should read
my horoscope.

You know,
today's my lucky day.

Everybody want
to share the wealth?

Don't tell me,
let me guess, right?

You want me
to k*ll him, right?

You know the rules.

We don't whack wiseguys.

- f*ck the rules.

Schibetta ain't Nino.

This one got no balls...

and neither do you.

♪ ♪

- Yo, you gonna let him
f*cking disrespect you

like that, man?

- Hey, hey. Shh.

Look, he and the wop
are two breaths away

from going down.

Us?

We're gonna pull up
a lawn chair.

We're gonna sit back.

We're gonna relax,
and we're gonna watch them go.

You got me?

Then we pick up the pieces
of whatever's left over.

All right?

- All right.
- All right, man.

♪ ♪

- [scoffs]

Come on, boys,
be all that you can be.

- Now, you probably saying,
"Boy meets girl--

"that's one boring
f*cking story.

It's always the same."

But there are variations
on the theme, like...

boy meets dog,

boy loses dog,
boy buys new dog.

Or girls meets
psychiatrist,

girl goes to therapy
for the next ten years.

Or in Oz, there's always...

boy meets boy.

[engine rumbling]

[engine revving,
tires squealing]

[tires screeching]

[siren wailing]

[horn honking]

[siren stops wailing]

Prisoner number 98K514--
Christopher Keller.

Convicted June 16, '98.

Felony m*rder,
two counts attempted m*rder,

as*ault with a deadly w*apon,

robbery, driving
while under the influence,

reckless driving.

Sentence--88 years.

Up for parole in 50.

[engine revving]

- Hill, gather your stuff.

You're moving
to another pod.

- What? Why?

- McManus wants to
keep mixing things up.

He doesn't want roommates
getting attached to each other.

- Who's moving in here?
- New guy.

[gate buzzes]

[gate buzzes]

Chris Keller,
Tobias Beecher.

He'll be your sponsor
in Emerald City.

He's gonna show
you the ropes.

[indistinct chatter]

- So you a f*g?

- No, you?

- I do what I have to.

- "Rats in the garden,
catch them, Towser.

"Cow's in the corn field,
run, boys, run.

"Cat's in the cream pot.
Stop her now, sir.

Fire on the mountain,
run, boys, run."

[gate buzzes]

- All right, bye.

- You the new prag?

It's gonna cost you $10
to use the phone.

- What?

- It's gonna cost you
10 bucks to get in there.

- Oh, yeah?
- Yeah.

[indistinct shouting]

- Broke my f*cking nose!

- What's going on?

What's going on?

♪ ♪

Better get to E.R.

- I owe you.

- I didn't do it
for you, pal.

I hate those Aryan fucks.

- Come in, Beecher.

Sit down.

The other day,
before Hill's hearing,

I met Judge Grace Lema.

- Oh, really?

How is the c**t?

- She asked about you.

- The c**t put me in here.

The c**t gave me
the toughest sentence possible.

- She asked if she could
come and see you.

- What a c**t.

You know, my trial
lasted 28 days,

and every single
one of those days...

I had to stare up
at that c**t's face

while she banged
her c**t gavel

and instructed
the jury to f*ck me over.

I didn't have a choice.

I had to see the c**t.

Now I don't have to.

- Yes, you do.

- You gonna force me?

- Yes.

- Why?

- Because I think
it'll be therapeutic.

Ultimately, you'll thank me.

- You know what?

You're a c**t, too.

- Mr. Beecher,

I appreciate your taking
the time to see me.

- Well, you know,

it's a nice break
from getting f*cked up the ass.

- Beecher.

- It's all right.
You can speak freely.

I'm afraid in court,
you never had that chance.

- Would it have made
a difference?

- No.

- Lady, what do you want?

- [clears throat] I've been
a judge for 16 years.

I've made
over 2,500 decisions.

Most of them were good,

but only one
has haunted me--yours.

You see, I've always
prided myself on being fair...

that in my court,
justice was truly blind.

But in your case...

That little girl,
her parents crying,

you being a member
of the bar,

your prior arrest
for DUI,

the senselessness
of it all,

it caught up with me.

I was quick-tempered

and spiteful
to the point where...

[sighs]

I can't tell
if I gave you a fair trial.

Now, seeing you like this,

I think maybe
the punishment

exceeded the crime.

And I'm...

Well...

- [chuckling]

You're what?
Sorry?

Your Honor, you used
all your power to crush me.

But the truth is,

I did k*ll Kathy Rockwell.

And as much as
I tried to manipulate

the legal system
to get off,

to get out of it,
I took her life.

According to the law,

each crime is worth
a certain number of years.

You gave me a maximum
of 15 years

in this fuckhole!

Is that too much?
Too harsh? Not enough?

I don't know!

You say you're haunted
by what you did?

Well, so am I!

And if you came here
for me to forgive you...

[scoffs]

You've come to
the wrong man.

He ceased to exist
the day Kathy Rockwell did.

And you're not gonna get
any more peace out of him

than I do out of her.

Yeah, this was
very therapeutic.

Thanks.

[door opens]

- I'm sorry.

Mr. Beecher...

[thud echoes]

♪ ♪

[tires squealing]

- No. No.

Aah!

- Hey, hey,
hey, you all right?

- Don't touch me!

- I'm just wondering
what happened.

- Keep your f*cking
hands off me,

you f*cking f*gg*t!

- All right.

All right.

- [breathing heavily]

- Hey.

- How's it going?

- Showering with this baby on
is a bitch.

- About last night,
calling you a f*gg*t...

- Forget about it.

I've had my share
of nightmares.

Look, when you helped me
out the other day

by the phones,
I told you...

I owe you.

See, the way
I figure it,

you and me, we're not
like the rest of them.

The Latinos, the homeboys,

the Aryans--
they all got each other.

You and me?

You and me are
standing out there

with our dicks swinging
in the wind.

We should be able
to rely on each other,

you know,
trust each other.

- Well, it's hard for me
to trust somebody.

- Me too.

We got a long f*cking
time together, so...

[knobs squeaking]

Why don't we just see
what happens, all right?

All right?

- All right.

- Good.

♪ ♪

[grunting]

- There you are,
you cocksucker!

- Hey, hey,
calm down, Mark.

- He broke my nose.

You broke my
m*therf*cking nose!

- Hey, give it
your best sh*t.

- All right, back off.

We're okay here, Officer.

Come on, go work it off.

- So how goes
Operation Toby?

- It'll take some time.

But don't worry,

sooner or later,
Beecher will be mine.

[sighs]

- Boy meets girl,
boy gets laid.

What makes us want
to f*ck somebody?

Is it the color
of their eyes,

the shape of their legs,

the spike of their heels?

Or is it what
the poets tell us,

that there's
something deeper,

a shared loss...

a longing to find someone

who knows the depth
of our sadness.

Some people
search their whole lives

for that somebody.

Some find 'em, some don't.

Some fool themselves
into believing

they're in love.

And in Oz, most times...

the illusion is
better than reality.

[engine revving]

♪ ♪

[water bubbling]