“This is it, Man,” Lorenzo told John Mark.

“Already?” his friend exclaimed. “Damn!”

The Reidsville, Georgia, prison bell rang, signaling the end of the a.m. Yard C break.

“They’re coming to get me soon. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes after we get back to the cell,” Lorenzo said.

Tears welled in John Mark’s eyes although he was doing his best to prevent them.

“Hard to believe you did five already,” John Mark said. “Gonna miss you, Motherfucker.”

“Like hell you are,” Lorenzo said. He was staring up at the sky.

“I mean it Man. Fella don’t got too many friends in this world. Real ones, what I’m saying.”

“You take care of yourself in here,” Lorenzo told him.

“I’ll be all right. Guess I will, anyhow,” said John Mark. His voice was unsteady, but he continued. “You my best friend in this world, but I’m telling you: I don’t wanna see yo ass back in this place. Ever. You got that?”

Lorenzo didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His face had suddenly turned pale and sweat began dripping off his forehead. He reached for his chest then throat before collapsing. He would’ve hit the ground had John Mark’s strong arms not caught him.

Some other prisoners and one of the guards began running toward the two embracing inmates. They saw John Mark standing there in the yard holding the newly-paroled Lorenzo in his arms. John Mark was weeping. He knew his friend Lorenzo was gone. He just knew it.