Wild Bill: [discovering his youngest son's been helping sell crack] First year's the hardest.
Jimmy: What?
Wild Bill: Yeah that's what they say. "First year's the hardest." It weren't for me. Second year, that was the real killer. First year you can still remember the world - your home, your pals, Sunday roast, what it's like to take a dump without someone watching you. Second year, that's when the hope starts to leave ya. No one left to trust. No one you really like 'cause you're in prison. Everyone's a criminal. They all want to fuck you over. You don't want to go to sleep 'cause, whatever you got, it'll be nicked by the bloke you share your cell with... whose farts and stink you have to put up with twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Don't want to make friends with no one because, if you do, you make an enemy somewhere else. Nancies who want to rump ya. And, oh, yeah, blokes who don't think nothin' about creeping up behind you with a shank and sticking it in your throat. Do you know what the worst thing is? Do ya? You get used to it. So, Jimbo, what are you gonna do?
