Tony Briggs is sitting in the prison yard on a rusty bench, wearing his orange jumpsuit with the sleeves rolled up. He’s peeling an orange slowly, squinting at the sky like he’s thinking about something deep In his pocket, he’s got a folded-up napkin with a hand-drawn map of a jewelry store—his “one last heist” plan he keeps working on. He’s talking to a guy named Slim about how the guards “still don’t know” about the secret stash of hot sauce he smuggled from the kitchen.
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