Original subtitles

- Sigmund Freud said that the purpose of our dreams

is to satisfy certain instinctual urges

that society deems unacceptable.

For instance, instead of killing an oppressive father,

which would be too horrible to handle,

we dream of throwing our boss out the window.

Freud believed that the mind will often modify our dreams

in order to keep strong emotions at bay.

And with less emotion,

a man can get up, go to work, and be a good citizen.

The difference for us in Oz is,

we don't dream of throwing our boss out the window,

we actually do it.

- So, Alvarez...

Who's responsible?

- I wish I knew.

- You didn't see who stabbed you?

- No, everything happened so fast, you know?

- Then I guess my investigation's over.

- Yeah, it's really breaking you up, ain't it?

- Man.

I'm no doctor, but...

I've seen a lot of stab wounds in my time.

If that knife had gone in

another quarter of an inch to the left,

we wouldn't be having this conversation.

- A quarter of an inch?

No shit.

- No shit.

Guess you were lucky, huh?

- You gonna send me back to Solitary?

- No, no, no. I mean...

There's no one I'd rather see rot in solitary than you,

but I figure I'll send you back to Em City.

Maybe next time, you're not so lucky.

- We gotta talk.

- Oh, you want me to shank you again?

Okay.

- Can I sit down?

- Blow me.

- Get up.

Have a seat.

- So?

- You tried to kill me.

- No, I didn't. You're alive, ain't you?

That was our deal.

- You were supposed to stab me in the shoulder, man.

Blade went in a quarter of an inch from my heart.

- Must've fucking moved, chocha.

What can I say?

- You ain't gotta say nothing.

I just want you to know that I know the truth, man.

I'm gonna honor our agreement.

I didn't die.

I ain't gonna retaliate.

- Backing off-- wise move, Miguel.

Listen to me carefully.

I'm never gonna welcome you back into El Norte,

but what I will do is guarantee that we'll leave you be.

- What the fuck are you talking about--

- All scores are settled.

- Excuse me.

- I want you to shank me.

I don't know how you came up with the idea,

but it fucking rocks,

and I see what it's done for you.

And mostly I see how Morales is.

Him talking to you before, like he's taking the high road,

being powerful and generous,

but behind his eyes, he's running scared.

I want to follow you.

- You want to follow me?

- Join your gang.

You're the next wave,

and I want to be your lieutenant.

Shank me.

I ain't gonna shank you, man.

But I understand, you know, you think

you gotta prove yourself and shit, right?

- Yes.

- I'm gonna have you do something else for me.

- Anything.

- Kill Guerra.

- Step over here, Morales.

- Okay.

- You know who I am?

- Dave Brass, the basketballer.

You played with McManus against Vahue in those games.

Pretty good for a white boy.

- Who cut my Achilles tendon?

- I don't know.

- Look, I don't care whose idea it was.

All I want is the guy who actually did the deed.

- I wish I could help you out.

- You lying piece of shit.

You're gonna regret that you didn't.

- You know...

You had the sweetest crossover dribble

I've ever seen.

Juking right,

then planting that foot, then going left.

I don't know how many times you dressed down Vahue

with that move.

But you know what they say.

You take away a basketball god's first step,

and all you got is a CO with a broken wheel.

- What you doing?

- I've started a letter writing campaign

to protest the possible cancellation

of "Miss Sally's Schoolyard."

- This one's signed by Stanton.

- Yeah, he's a good guy, that Stanton.

- Stanton's in Solitary.

- All right, so I fudged a few.

- Wangler. Adebisi.

Groves-- Groves?

- Okay, I fudged them all.

None of those yerts out there would rally for the cause.

You want to write one?

- No offense,

but the only thing I want renewed

is my grandson's chance to beat his leukemia.

- Right, sorry.

What's the latest on his condition?

- You gotta pay to play.

There's a cure to be found, but it'll cost,

and I still haven't figured out a way to raise the money.

- Next up is Whitney Allen,

star of "Miss Sally's Schoolyard,"

to tell us about next week's Mightyball drawing.

Whitney?

- Hi, Warren, how are you?

- Very well, thank you.

Thanks for dropping by.

- Who are all these numb nuts that play the lottery?

- I've played the lottery. - Me too.

- Like I said. Numb nuts.

Out of 51 numbers, you gotta pick the right number,

not once but six times in a row.

- I say it is possible to win.

- Jesus Christ, Busmalis,

you'd have a better chance of getting struck by lightning.

- Approximately 1,000 people a year

win a million dollars or more in North American lotteries.

In contrast...

less than 100 people a year are hit by lightning.

- So don't forget to play,

'cause the winner might just be you.

- Excuse me, Officer Brass. - Yeah?

- Bob Rebadow.

You've always seemed like a sympathetic fellow to me.

- What do you want?

- I want you to purchase a lottery ticket for me.

The jackpot is $2 million.

I'll cut you in.

- Cut me in on what?

- The prize money.

What in the world makes you think you're gonna win?

- God told me.

These are the winning numbers.

- Whoop.

Hey, Dave, how you doing?

- What's the deal with this guy, Bob Rebadow?

- Uh, nothing.

Why, is he giving you trouble?

- No, I just thought the guy might be psychotic.

At dinner he starts telling me God speaks to him.

- Oh, yeah, he's had an ongoing tête-à-tête

with the Almighty for some time now.

Actually, he's relatively stable.

- First time I've touched one of these

since my Achilles got cut.

It's a perfect fucking ball, man.

Gummy. Beat-up.

Give you mad handle.

This ball will make you Pete Maravich.

- Oh, Jesus, Pistol Pete.

Greatest scorer in the history of college ball.

- When he was growing up,

he used to carry a ball with him at all times,

no matter what-- in school, on a date--

didn't matter.

He'd even go to bed with a basketball,

like a marriage.

So I started doing it.

I quit sleeping with it when I got to college,

but other than that...

- Come on, man. You want to shoot, shoot.

- It's all right. - Come on.

I can stick around for a while.

- I gotta go.

Gotta make an extra stop on my way home.

I gotta buy a lottery ticket.

- Well, another night, then.

We'll stay late. We'll shoot around.

- You know how Pete Maravich died?

Playing basketball.

Been retired eight years.

Was out running in a pickup game,

heart attack,

up and down the court one minute,

falling over dead the next.

Till death do us part.

He's able to live that, literally.

But I won't be able to.

So stop fucking asking me to shoot around with you.

All right?

- Ugh... - Hey!

- No!

- First of all, let me say I'm glad you're fully recovered.

Secondly, I understand you want to return to Emerald City.

And you can understand that that's a tough call for me.

Before you got... hurt,

you continuously threatened the lives of Enrique Morales

and the other Latinos,

and plus, Cyril O'Reily's in there.

- Mr. McManus.

Getting hit by Cyril O'Reily

may have been the single greatest event in my life.

There I was, on the brink of death,

and suddenly I could see all that I had done

and, more importantly, if I survived,

all that I could do.

Have you ever had an experience like that?

- Well, yes, I have.

- Whether or not you bring me back to Em City

is ultimately irrelevant... and yet I'm drawn there.

Why? I don't know.

- All right. Let's give it a shot.

But I want you to have interaction sessions

with Peter Marie.

- I'm sorry I hurt you.

- Why did you hit Kenmin, Cyril?

- He was punching Ryan.

- Why were you punching Ryan?

- I'd been in the cage all day.

I was feeling feisty.

I decided to show off. It was stupid.

Yeah.

- Ryan. - What?

His bullshit almost got Cyril transferred

to the fucking insane asylum.

- The rules are no interrupting and no swearing.

- I take full blame

for everything that's happened to me.

Which is why I want to make peace.

- Ah, ah, ah.

Sit the fuck down.

- No.

I want to make peace too.

- Go ahead.

- Ah, fuck.

- Prisoner #02L333.

Li Chen.

Convicted January 14th, 2002.

Four counts of attempted murder.

Sentence: 32 years.

Up for parole in 20.

- ♪ Mm ♪

♪ Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah... ♪

- Okay.

- Stop laughing, Ryan. - Ryan, behave!

- I know, okay, okay, I'm sorry,

but Cyril's singing really sucks.

- Now, I-I have told you

that this program is not about becoming Pavarotti.

It's about learning how to express your feelings

through the music.

You did very good, Cyril.

- Thank you. - That's more like "Pavarotten".

- All right, you try.

- Uh-uh.

No, no, the deal was, I sign up for this class

to spend more time with you-- that's it, I'm not singing.

- So, this session's over, but next Friday, Ryan,

I want to hear you sing.

- Okay, Mom, but you know what?

I'll do you one better.

- Suzanne, your next two students are here.

- Whoa, whoa, whoa.

What's this?

- I heard your mother was teaching,

so I decided to give it a whirl.

Jia Kenmin.

- Suzanne Fitzgerald.

- Li Chen. - Welcome, both of you.

- Let's go, O'Reily.

- Yeah, yeah, in a second, Brass.

- Now, fuckwad.

- Yeah, you fuckin' cripple. - Bye, guys.

- So, have you guys...

- What's the matter, Ryan?

- I got a bad feeling, man.

- About what?

- About that piss stain, Jia Kenmin.

I know he's perpetrating,

I know he's plotting something against us.

I think he might want to hurt my ma.

- I like her.

- Yeah, well, she likes you, too, Cyril.

- You want to trade?

- Trade? Trade what?

- I'll give you my most prized possession

if you give me her.

- We don't have to trade, Cyril.

We can share her, you know that.

- Really? - Yeah. Hey.

Don't I share everything with you?

Hey, Jia.

- Your mother's a wonderful person.

- Yeah, well, see that she stays that way.

- Meaning what?

- You fuck with her one time,

you go back into a coma.

This time, it's permanent.

- Look, you have nothing to fear from me.

But Li Chen, he is a different matter.

He's one sick fuck.

- You're dreaming,

you're deep into REM sleep,

and someone walks in, someone who's dead,

someone you love-- a father, a mother, a friend--

and you're happy to see that person alive and well,

happy to have a conversation to say the things

you never got a chance to say,

but then you wake up,

and the person you loved is still dead...

and you get to mourn all over again.

- About fucking time.

What happened to the pool table?

- Hey, it's in dry dock for repairs.

- Spread the word, I want a meeting

of the entire brotherhood.

We got some unfinished business with Chucky Pancamo.

Hey, Petey, what's shaking, man?

- Schillinger's out of Ad Seg.

So, when they letting you out of here?

- I don't know. Dr. Nathan won't say.

Things cool with Morales?

- Yeah, yeah, drugs are running the same as always.

- The kitchen?

- Good, it's under control.

- Hey, Petey.

Don't get used to runnin' things.

I'm still fuckin' breathin'.

- Yeah, I know. I know.

But we gotta waste Schillinger

for what he did to you, you know.

- We'll take care of that Nazi fuck

when I'm back in circulation.

Capisce? - Yep. Capisce.

- I got news.

Schillinger's out of the hole.

- Good.

Now we can sit back

and watch the Nazis wipe out the Sicilians.

- Yeah, but that ain't gonna do nothing about them spics.

You know, they as strong as ever,

and you know Morales is gonna keep

his pact with Pancamo.

- Unless... Morales sees this as an opportunity

to move three squares forward, change partners.

I want you to tell Enrique

I want a sit-down.

The older I get, the more I realize

that my appetites are merely habits.

I don't crave power anymore.

I just want it 'cause I always had it.

When I first arrived here at Emerald City,

you made me a very generous offer

to share the drug trade,

but I ain't used to partners, so I said no.

Ever since then,

we've been rattling the sabers at each other,

with neither one of us gaining very much ground.

- I'm beginning to think you don't know how to die.

- Oh, Christ, what's this now?

I'm gonna shut 'em down.

- No, no, wait.

Signal your men to get ready, but let's wait.

- I'm missing the point here.

- Months ago, we agreed to a truce.

Only thing is, neither one of us meant the oaths that we swore.

I say we make the lie a reality.

I say we work together.

Peace.

- Well, I'll be fucked.

- All it means, Tim,

is now they're one big happy tit factory.

- Not when Pancamo finds out.

- Fuck.

- We gotta talk to Chucky.

- Fuck Chucky, I can handle this.

- Petey.

- My father ran operations here.

I run operations here.

- Adebisi took you down, man.

- That was Pancamo's fault.

Okay, that motherfucker was supposed to be watching my back,

and he did fucking shit.

- So what the fuck are we gonna do?

- We're gonna show these assholes

the Sicilians are still in charge.

We're gonna massacre the fucking Nazis.

Where's Said?

- Why?

- 'Cause I want reinforcements.

I need a brief conversation with Minister Said.

Excuse me.

May I sit?

I'll come right to the point.

- Please do.

- Me and you, we have mutual interests.

Common enemies. Schillinger.

I want him dented, and you want him dented,

and I'm hoping we can work something out.

- You were raped by Adebisi.

- Yeah, well, I'm asking--

- I'm answering.

You look like you may have resolved the rape

in your own head.

Doesn't change the facts.

Here in Oz, you will always be known

as one of Adebisi's bitches.

No matter what you do, you cannot change that.

- I can.

- Good luck.

- Thank you.

- Peter.

- What?

- He's fucking right, you know?

And we... well,

you're our paisan,

but we decided

we're not going after the Aryans

unless Pancamo gives the word.

- Fuck all of yous.

- Hey.

What can I do for you?

- I came to pick up the pool table.

- Yeah, is it fixed yet?

- Yeah, the ball return was a little hinky,

but I un-hinkied it.

- Hey.

You got the toaster done?

- Hold your Calvins, boccie boy.

I'm in the middle of something.

- Yeah, well, I got lunch coming,

so these jokers can wait.

- We don't wait for wops.

- Someone's gonna teach you manners, Vernon.

- Yeah, well, it ain't gonna be you, prag.

- Whoa, look out!

- Fuck off!

Let me up!

- You know-- - Let me up!

- I always wondered...

Was Adebisi's dick bigger than mine?

- Ah! Fuck you! both:

- Fuck you!

No!

- You be the judge. - No!

- I managed to stop the bleeding,

but he's still in pretty bad shape.

- Take him to the psych ward.

- Oh, yeah.

Pool table's working good now.

- Have you been working for the warden for a long time?

- Not that long, but long enough.

- I'm the one who saved Glynn's life, you know.

Mm-hmm.

'Cause when Clayton Hughes was gonna stab him,

I grabbed Hughes, and I pulled him off.

- Oh.

- You're very pretty. - Thank you.

I've been in Solitary for almost a year,

and you're the first real woman I've seen since I got out.

- Real woman?

- Well, there's, you know, there's the female hacks.

- Penders, come in.

- Okay. Bye.

- Now!

Close the door.

What can I do for you?

- Well, I'm out of Solitary, and I want to stay out,

so I think the best thing for me to do

is to avoid any... altercations,

which means as little face time

with the other prisoners as possible.

So I want to know if, instead of working in the shop,

if you can give me a job here.

- In my office? - Yes.

- No. - Warden, that--

- Don't say I owe you.

I have a very negative reaction to that.

Your presence here would only remind me

on a day-to-day basis

of what happened to Clayton Hughes,

so the answer is no.

In fact...

if you see me coming, hide,

because the best thing for me

is to stick you back in Solitary.

Stay out of my sight.

Okay? Officer!

- Warden, that's not right.

That's not right.

- Bye. - That's not right.

- Wet dreams are the best.

You start having them at, like, 12 years old.

Every other night, you're making love

to the most beautiful women in the world--

Pam Grier, Barbi Benton,

even the lovely little Jodie Jensen

in your fifth grade homeroom.

Then you grow up,

and the wet dreams happen less frequently,

but now you're getting the real thing, so who cares?

Until one day you realize the woman that you're with,

maybe even married to,

don't look like Barbi Benton, ain't fucking like Pam Grier,

and will never love you as purely and innocently

as little Jodie Jensen.

Wet dreams.

A boy don't know how good he's got it.

- This new law brings the death penalty

back to our state

and limits a condemned man's choices

to either lethal injection or the electric chair,

and I'm confident that this version

will sustain all judicial review.

And once again,

our message to miscreants is clear:

stop murdering our families.

Stop the violence.

- Tobias, would you like to sit here?

- No, why?

- You're gonna hurt your neck straining like that.

- It's just...

Keller's coming back from Cedar Junction today.

- We know.

- I haven't seen him in months.

I'm a little anxious.

How do I look?

- Anxious.

- I was hoping you were gonna say fuckable.

- Misdeal.

- Warden!

I'm touched you came down to welcome me home.

Where's the red carpet and the marching band?

- Cut the jokes, Keller.

- Yes, sir.

You know, I want you to know, this time around,

I intend to be a model prisoner.

Gonna be the best-behaved man in Emerald City.

- That'll be fine,

except you're not going to Emerald City.

- No? Where, B?

- For the time being, you'll be in protective custody.

- Protective custody... why?

- You'll see.

After he changes clothes, take him to interview room two.

- Well, well, well, Agent Taylor, what a surprise.

- Sit.

- I been riding hump all day, I prefer to stand.

- Suit yourself.

State of Massachusetts let you out of prison

because Gaetano Cincetta says you didn't hire him

to kill Hank Schillinger.

He says Chucky Pancamo hired him.

- That's old news, Spanky. - True.

But one question, though.

Why would you confess to hiring Cincetta

when you didn't?

Why would you cover for Pancamo?

- I owed him. - You're lying.

- Prove it.

- I do have one piece of new news for you, though.

The Brice Tibbetts murder case.

A witness has come forward.

Imagine that.

After all this time,

a citizen decides to step up and do the right thing.

This citizen picked your picture out of a mug file.

Tomorrow you and I are gonna drive into town

and see whether he or she can pick you out of a lineup.

In the meantime, we're keeping you isolated.

But don't get too comfortable, though.

Your real home's gonna be death row.

Officer... put this caviar on ice.

- Put an "X" on that one.

- Hey.

- Hey, how'd your meeting go with Freddy Rudolph?

- Good.

We're feeling very positive about his parole.

- Excellent.

- Well, I mean,

I said that before, didn't I?

- Will you stop beating yourself up, Catherine?

You did the best you could for me.

I have to go.

Come here. Give Daddy a kiss.

I love you.

Will you give Daddy a kiss?

- Yes.

- Mmm, you smell good.

I'll see you on Saturday, okay, dumpling?

- Bye.

- So, Officer Howell...

You and me are gonna be spending

an awful lot of time together, huh?

- Think you can handle that, tough guy?

- Well, I know if I can't, you'll make me.

Hey, Sister Pete.

- Hello, Chris.

May we speak privately?

- Knock yourself out, Sister.

- How are you?

- Off-balance.

Yesterday, I was in Cedar Junction

serving life on a murder for hire,

and all of a sudden, they tell me,

"Oh, you're not guilty for that.

You're going back to Oz."

I'm on the bus,

I'm looking forward to coming back here,

and the FBI tells me

that they got a witness against me

for an old murder rap.

I'm facing the death penalty.

- What you need is a good lawyer.

- Yeah, you know of any?

- I'll find somebody.

If you need anything else, give me a holler.

- Sister Pete?

I want to spend some time with Beecher.

- I'll see what I can do.

- The death penalty?

Christ.

- I'm hoping Catherine McClain will recommend

a lawyer from her office.

- Catherine. Yeah, that's a good idea.

- Meanwhile, I'll ask the warden about all the specifics.

- While you're there, will you ask him...

I'd like some time with Keller.

- I'll see what I can do.

- The answer is no!

- May I ask why?

- You can ask, but you won't like the reason.

- Try me.

- Chris Keller tortured, sexually abused,

and murdered three men.

Why should I try to make him happy?

- And Beecher?

- Beecher is once again the victim

of someone else's excesses.

- Oh, come on. - This discussion is over.

- Leo! - This discussion is over!

- You know when you're driving in your car

or maybe taking a shower, and suddenly,

you remember some great dream you had,

and that dream made you feel so good or bad or whatever,

you can't help but try to recapture every detail.

The next thing you know,

you missed your exit ramp,

or the hot water's gone cold.

Well, in Oz, if you take a shower,

and you space off, even for a second,

some cocksucker is sure to shank you in the back.

Daydreams can be deadly.

- What do you want?

- What do you want?

- Not a thing.

- Not a thing.

- Robson, get out of my way.

- Robson, get out of my way.

- Imam, come with us.

- Say another word, Robson.

Say one more word,

I'll snap your cracker neck,

right here, right now.

- Robson!

Move your sorry ass onward.

- Yes, sir, boss.

- Imam, you have to control the anger in your heart.

Remember the words of Allah.

- What words would those be, Arif?

What advice would Allah have for me?

- Look, I don't mean to speak beyond my position,

but he has got serious--

- I know what you're thinking, Ahmad,

but Minister Said is a great man.

He's having troubles right now.

That is why we must not abandon him.

- No, no, not abandon him.

Of course not, he's our brother.

But is he the one to lead us?

Look, I feel that he has got--

- Enough!

Help me pick up these beads.

- Did you ever use drugs? - No, ma'am.

Not so much as a marijuana cigarette

has ever touched my lips.

- I have.

Heroin.

Crack cocaine.

- Kareem? - What?

You thought my journey to Allah was easy?

- No, it's just that...

when I was using, you never said--

- That is a period of my life of which I am not very proud of.

- Hmm.

Unlike now?

- Follow me.

- Yo, man, what's up with that?

"Miss Sally" is on the TV, man.

- I said come.

What are you doing with Poet?

- Poet? What, nothing.

- He wasn't trying to sell you drugs?

- Come on, man.

Only titties we was talking about was Miss Sally's, man.

- You are not to talk to him.

- Why, what's up with that? We just snapping.

That's my boy, we go back.

- What'd I just say?

Now, remember, one word from me to McManus,

and you go straight back to Solitary.

Now, go.

Straighten out your cell.

Hey!

Now, you better obey me.

- Oh, dude.

You look like you need some bounce, bro.

Shitload of tits came in today.

- Step off, bro.

You know I can't be doing no drugs and shit.

Motherfucker Said's watching me 24/7, man.

Glynn has me tested once a week and shit.

- Well, yo, last year, Glynn was having me tested, man.

I got the way around that.

You know Billy Plana?

- Mm-mm. - He works bedpan.

He pissed for me, then switched the cups out.

You could pay, right?

Well, he'd piss for me, he'd piss for you.

- Hook me up. - I got you, dawg.

- Omar?

- Oh, fuck. - Omar?

- Fuck.

- Oh, man.

- Open your hand.

- Yeah, I was just--

- Be quiet.

Open your hand.

Give it to me.

- Damn.

- You forget Omar White exists.

I'm not gonna warn you again, Poet.

- Fuck this shit, man. - Yo, yo, yo, Poet, man.

My cap, man.

Fuck, he got all my money.

I should be working and shit, you know what I mean?

- Omar didn't actually take a hit?

- No. - Well, good.

- But he will. He'll find another dealer.

By day's end, he'll be high.

- Well, yeah, all right.

Let me know if he uses.

- McManus.

That's all you have to say?

- Well, what do you want me to say?

- Wait a minute, you asked me to help White.

You asked me to save him.

- Yeah.

- In the process,

you convinced me that if I can turn him around,

I might find a way past my own troubles.

- Mm-hmm. - I bought in, McManus.

I bought in hook, line, and sinker.

I'm still buying.

Now, I need this to succeed, for my own soul.

- I know.

- So why you refusing to help me?

- I'm not refusing anything.

I got nothing to offer.

Said, this is all on you.

Omar White is the million dollar question.

There's an answer,

but I'm never gonna come up with it.

I believe you can.

I'm basically a spectator now,

but I think your instincts can find the key.

If not, we're all fucked.

- Omar, when you finish up, come see me.

- Yo, man, look.

Yo, you're making my motherfucking head hurt,

all right?

I don't feel like hearing no goddamn

drug speech now, shit!

- We're not gonna talk about drugs.

- Then what?

- I don't know, anything, just a conversation.

- Look, I don't want to have no damn conversation now.

All right? Shit.

- We're gonna have a conversation anyway.

You understand me?

Now...

What is your favorite color?

Answer.

- White. - White.

Why is that? 'Cause your name, right?

- It's clean and shit.

- Fine.

One more.

What was the last thing

that you were really passionate about?

- You know, tell you the truth, man,

I don't think I ever gave a shit about shit.

- Oh, come, man, there must've been something.

- Nothing. - Come on.

Something you wanted to do.

Something you wanted to be.

Come on, Omar. Give me something.

Give me something.

- Cowboy.

That's right.

Motherfucking black cowboy, Jack, yeah.

When I was a kid, you know, I saw...

I saw this movie from the olden days and shit

with... Herb Jeffries.

Yeah, what was it called?

"The Bronze Buckaroo" and shit.

That's it. - Black B Westerns.

Black movies, all black cowboys,

made for black audiences in the late '30s.

So, guns and horses, huh?

- Yo, man, never mind

the motherfucking guns and horses.

That motherfucker Herb Jeffries...

He could sing.

- So, this is excellent.

- What's excellent?

- Well, you've identified an interest,

and that's an important step forward.

See, finding the right activity

a constructive way of spending your time,

can make all the difference-- do you know what?

I'm gonna set up a meeting with Suzanne Fitzgerald.

- O'Reily's mother? - That's right.

She's doing community service work here.

- Why am I meeting who?

- She teaches singing.

- Yo, that all sounds great and shit, except for one thing.

I can't sing.

- "Can't" never did anything, Omar.

- What does that mean?

- I don't understand.

You're pissed because we've started a music program?

- No, no, I'm pissed because I'm just hearing about it.

I'm the state liaison, for Chrissake.

- Oh, and you have to report everything back to your pal,

the governor.

- Leo.

There's no money in the budget for a music program.

How do you expect to pay the freight?

- Well, Suzanne Fitzgerald is donating her time.

The other costs are minimal.

I'll do what I always do.

Take a little from here, a little from there.

- The arts are an important part of life.

- Oh, really?

I couldn't get you anywhere near

a theater and art gallery when we were married,

especially if there was football on TV.

- Ellie, I really think this program can help

some of these guys.

- Tim, you're setting yourself up

for another fall.

You always bet everything on the impossible.

- That's not true. - Yeah?

Look at us.

Get an estimate of the cost.

I'll see if I can wrangle some cash from Devlin.

- You were very smart in marrying her.

- Mm.

- She was very smart in divorcing you.

- So, I ain't gotta sing?

- No, you don't have to sing. - I don't?

- But I do encourage you to try at least once,

before we give up.

- My voice ain't no good.

I mean, it's too deep.

Like Barry White, you know, just bad.

- You know what, I think you might be more of a tenor,

so let's try this.

♪ Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah ♪

You try.

- You know, you sure are a fine-looking woman.

- Okay, well, new idea.

Let's try starting with a song, okay?

I bet you know this one.

♪ Jesus loves me, this I know ♪

♪ For the Bible tells me so ♪

♪ Little ones to him belong ♪

♪ They are weak, but he is strong ♪

- I know that, that's... that's "Jesus Loves Me."

- ♪ Yes, Jesus loves me ♪

♪ Yes, Jesus loves me ♪

♪ Yes, Jesus loves me ♪

♪ The Bible tells me so ♪

- See, now, you-- you a singer.

- It's your turn.

- I heard...

I heard you was O'Reily's moms.

- That's true.

- Growing up... you make him sing too?

No.

- Why not?

- It's a long story.

- So is mine.

- Omar, you know, I'm not asking for the world.

- Damn!

I mean, I try to be graceful up in here, right?

I'm trying, all right?

You said I didn't have to sing, right?

- I said I wanted you to try. Now, sit back down, please.

- Motherfucking liar, man.

Everybody's always fucking lying!

- Officer Brass!

- I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. I take it back.

I'm sorry. I take it back.

Forgive me, I didn't--

- Suzanne, you all right?

- Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.

Shh, shh, shh, it's okay.

- Get off the floor, you fucking mutt!

- Stand up.

Let's try again. Come on.

Sit down.

Come on.

Want to try this?

- I heard once that every person in your dream is actually you.

Even if you're dreaming about you

and some motherfucker you can't stand,

you're actually dreaming about you--

And the motherfucker part of yourself

you can't stand.

- Your mother got all riled up about civil rights.

Hell, things wasn't as bad as they was in the South.

But she dragged your daddy on down to D.C.

to hear Dr. King.

To join the march.

- And you didn't go?

- No.

I stayed in town,

waiting on something better to come along.

Your parents were part of the most important event

of the 20th century.

And here I am, two days into a five-day drunk.

- I miss Mama so fuckin' much.

- I know, I know.

- I got a postcard from my honey.

She's in Maui.

- Oh, yeah, Maui? Man, Maui's awesome.

You know you can actually climb down into a volcano there?

And the women, they got great, great...

They got great inner beauty, man.

- You been to Maui?

- No, I just read it in "National Pornographic."

You know, lots of color photos and shit.

- Does it bother you

that your girlfriend is in Hawaii, Chico?

- No, I know Consuela still loves me,

and I want her to be having a good time and all,

but that postcard,

it really ripped my heart out, you know?

Places I'll never see.

- There are worse things than your woman going on vacation.

- Yeah, like what?

- She could leave you.

She could send you a letter one day and say,

you know, she thinks the time has come

for her to move on with her life.

I'm saying...

I thought the worst thing that could happen to me was

losing my legs-- losing my freedom--

but Annabella, that's...

Like losing my manhood.

Another big chunk of who I am.

- I wish I could understand you.

- Jaz Hoyt's sitting in the Hole

because of the Reverend Cloutier.

You work the mail room, don't you, Gunner?

- Yeah. - Great.

Make sure today that you're the one

pushing around the mail cart.

Make sure you do deliveries to the hospital ward.

And when you get there, waste Cloutier.

- How?

- I'm told a lot of burn victims suffocate.

- There you go, dago.

- Fuck you, punk.

- What's this doing here?

- I guess Cloutier's got mail.

- Officer! Officer!

Officer! Officer!

- Damn it!

- Get the fuck off him!

- Okay, okay, okay.

Look at me. Look at me.

- Where's Gunner?

- In Solitary. - And Cloutier?

- Alive.

- Shit!

Now I gotta tell Jaz.

- Come here. - What, what, what?

- I saw him. - Saw who?

- Cloutier, in the Hole,

all of a sudden, he appears, looking healthy.

- You were dreaming. - I saw him.

- That's crazy.

- I saw him just like Jim Burns saw him.

- Jim Burns is dead. You killed him.

- We killed him. - Okay, look.

Relax, all right?

- Fuck you, "relax."

- Put the cigarette out.

- Okay, okay.

- Smoking's bad for you, Jaz.

- Yeah, I know.

Oh, shit.

Help! Lopresti!

Help! - They cannot hear you.

I'm in your mind.

I'm all the guilt

stacked up inside your soul your whole life,

ever since you killed your first cat.

And I'm not going anywhere,

unless...

- Unless what?

- You do something for me.

- Anything.

- Kill Timmy Kirk.

- But-- - Kill Timmy Kirk, Jaz.

Or I'll be visiting you every night

for the rest of your life.

- Hey!

Put the cigarette out!

- Dr. Nathan says that the Reverend Cloutier's recovery

is remarkable.

He should be talking in weeks.

- Good news.

- Don't hondel me, Kirk.

You were the one who arranged

to have that biker try and kill Cloutier.

- How'd you like a blow job?

- Kirk! - The fuck's wrong with you?

What are you--

- Hoyt! Officer!

What the... what the...

- Ah!

Oh, Jesus.

Oh, God! Oh, God!

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

Oh, no!

- I confess to the murder of Jim Burns.

I confess to the murder of Ralph Gulino.

I confess to the murder of Brian Lawlor.

I confess to the murder of Adam Decoursey.

I confess to the murder of David Horton.

- Gloria, Hoyt's claiming that Cloutier ordered him

to kill Timmy Kirk.

- That's insane, Cloutier can barely move

and can't even speak yet.

- I don't know.

Hoyt really seems to believe

that Cloutier appeared to him last night.

- You think Hoyt's going for the insanity defense

to keep him off death row?

- Maybe...

Gloria.

- Yeah?

- Where is he? - Uh...

Did you move Cloutier?

- No. He was here a minute ago.

- Well, now he's gone.

- But on entering the tomb,

I saw a young man sitting at the right side,

cloaked in a white robe.

And they were amazed.

He said to them, "Do not be terrified.

"You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth,

"who was crucified.

He has risen."

- Everybody's got their own brand

of miserable shit to deal with in life,

but if you keep your eye on your dream,

you'll pull through.

In Oz, the opposite is true.

The way to get through the shit

is by having no dreams at all.

In fact, one of the biggest consolations

for a man doing time is knowing 90% of people

in the outside world don't realize their dreams.

So, you see, we're not really missing out on anything,

are we?