Original subtitles

[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 dick

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 dick.

- Get lost.

- You're a fag.

You suck dick. So what's the problem?

- I suck the dicks I want to suck, so fuck 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 killed Vogel?

- Yeah, me and Schillinger.

Now suck my fucking dick.

- 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.

- Fuck you.

- Aah!

- Oh, shit! - Oh, shit!

[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 murder.

- Fuck.

- Officer. - Shit, shit, 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 murder,

a real murder.

- A murder here in Oz?

- Alexander Vogel.

- Vogel.

- Yeah, if I tell you who killed 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 killed Vogel.

- Proof?

- Your friend Mac confessed.

- Horse shit.

- 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 shit.

And even if he was,

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

In your wildest fucking 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 murder 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 killing,

they suggest you also confess to Alexander Vogel's murder.

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 murdered 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 automatic 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 automatic 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 gun.

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 fuck 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 shot 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 fucking life!

I am not you, man.

I don't want to be a martyr or a fucking saint!

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

Either you can do that, or you leave me the fuck 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 shit 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"--

- Faggot, you done with your faggotry yet?

- Who you calling faggot?

- I'm calling you a fucking faggot, you faggot!

- 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.

Fuck 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 faggot!

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 motherfuckers 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 fuck 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 fuck pays for poetry? [laughing]

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

[laughing]

- No shit.

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]

♪ ♪

- Shit, 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 fuck?

Hey, you know,

you know, you're so fucking 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 crack house.

- A symbol, me?

Shit.

- 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.

- Fuck!

- Boy meets girl, boy loses girl,

boy gets girl.

And that's the best part, right?

After all that shit 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 fucking 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 shit does bad shit to you.

- Hmm, it can also save your life.

♪ ♪

[indistinct chatter]

- [clears throat]

What the fuck are you looking at?

- Nothing, Ryan.

- Get the fuck out of here!

[vomiting]

[coughing]

Hey, I want back in the kitchen.

- Forget about it.

- Listen, Schibetta, I'm not fucking around.

- He said forget about it, cancer boy.

[laughing]

- Faggot.

- 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 fucking 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]

♪ ♪

- Fuck.

♪ ♪

- [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 shit.

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 fucking 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 fucking bath right there.

There's your fucking 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 kill Adebisi?

Shit, 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 war.

No offense, no offense, but drop fucking dead.

♪ ♪

- Hey, papi, I been thinking.

- Yeah?

That must be a new experience for you, huh?

- About me and you in business.

- Shit, 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 kill him, right?

You know the rules.

We don't whack wiseguys.

- Fuck the rules.

Schibetta ain't Nino.

This one got no balls...

and neither do you.

♪ ♪

- Yo, you gonna let him fucking 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 fucking 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 murder, two counts attempted murder,

assault with a deadly weapon,

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 fag?

- 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 fucking 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 cunt?

- She asked about you.

- The cunt put me in here.

The cunt gave me the toughest sentence possible.

- She asked if she could come and see you.

- What a cunt.

You know, my trial lasted 28 days,

and every single one of those days...

I had to stare up at that cunt's face

while she banged her cunt gavel

and instructed the jury to fuck me over.

I didn't have a choice.

I had to see the cunt.

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 cunt, too.

- Mr. Beecher,

I appreciate your taking the time to see me.

- Well, you know,

it's a nice break from getting fucked 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 kill 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 fucking hands off me,

you fucking faggot!

- 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 faggot...

- 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 fucking 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 motherfucking nose!

- Hey, give it your best shot.

- 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 fuck 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]