Bull folded the most recent letter and added it to the stack under his bed. Norton’s letters,

their monthly correspondence, had kept him sane for a long time. Bull had been given a life sentence in this hellhole for what he still considered self defense in a bar fight that the other guy started. Both of them had been drunk as skunks and the guy came at him with both fists; Bull retaliated with a broken beer bottle, the guy fell and bled out, and here he was. Norton began writing to him as part of some touchy-feely psych program through the chaplain but over the months Bull had come to deeply appreciate the normalcy of these letters from a CPA with a wife, two kids, a house and a dog named Horace.

Bull heard a key in the cell door and the guard yelled, “Up against the bed, hands up, no sudden moves. You got a new cell mate, Bull. Be decent.”

The guy shuffled in carrying his bed linens and towels. He was a short, skinny guy about fifty years old and the prison jump suit hung on him. He looked like he didn’t weigh more than 150 soaking wet, and Bull sneered at him.

“You snore?”

“Who, me?” The new guy looked up at Bull’s 6’5” of pure muscle and looked scared to deathl.

“You see anybody else in here, Dimwit? I asked if you snored.”

“My wife never complained so I guess not.”

“Okay, then. You leave me alone and my stuff alone and I got no issues with you…..yet.”

“Got it.”

The new guy made up his bed and pulled out a picture and stuck it on the wall. It was a professional photo of him with his wife and kids, and he patted it and laid out on the bed, saying nothing.

“Nice family.”

“We were.”

“No more?”

“She divorced me when I got convicted.”

“What you in for?”

The guy looked over at Bull. “You first.”

“Murder. First degree.”

“Wow.” His eyes widened, then he sighed. “I stupidly got caught up in an embezzlement scheme and the others threw me under the bus to save their own necks. They were the big guys; I was only the accountant but here I am. Name’s Norton. You?”

Bull just stared at him. Surely this could not be; this had to be some sick joke. “You said your name is Norton? You by chance have a dog named Horace?”

Norton sat up straight. “How the hell do you know that? Is this some kind of set up?”

Bull reached under his bed and pulled out the stack of letters and tossed them to Norton. “These look familiar?”

Norton thumbed through them in disbelief and then looked up. “My God. You’re Bull.”

They both began to laugh hysterically, so loud that the guard finally came to see what was going on. “You guys all right?”

“Couldn’t be better,” Norton said, snorting and chuckling.

“All is great,” agreed Bull, giving a thumbs up. “Just couldn’t be better.”