These melons cost a dollar apiece.

And that's how it came to pass that on the second-to-last day of the job, the convict crew that tarred the plate factory roof in the spring of forty-nine wound up sitting in a row at ten o'clock in the morning drinking icy cold, Bohemia-style beer, courtesy of the hardest screw that ever walked a turn at Shawshank State Prison.

You're kidding!

I'd never been with anyone in the States who precame very much at all, and decided at that very moment I was quite fond of the sweet, sticky stuff.