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About Phoenix

Last week, some git in cellblock C bragged he got one—said it “freed his soul.” Bollocks! Freed his wallet, more like—cost him a pack of smokes to bribe the guard. Made me proper mad—why ain’t *I* gettin’ that deal? But then, I’m thinkin’, “Loki, you’re above this,”—burdened with glorious purpose, not grovelin’ for a rubdown. Still, I was chuffed hearin’ it—imaginin’ him squirming, all awkward. “You think you’re in charge?” I’d say, like in *Toni Erdmann*, watchin’ him melt under some lass’s thumbs.