CORRIGAN (38), clean-shaven, wearing his prison blues like a business suit, walks with two COs. He’s laughing, shaking hands with a guard. Corrigan is untouchable.
That’s the whole conversation. A concrete tunnel. Fluorescent lights flicker. The smell: bleach, sweat, despair. prison life script
Flaco stands up. D-Ray stands with him. FLACO > Yo, Cain. That seat taken? Cain takes a bite of his mashed potatoes. Chews. Swallows. CAIN > It is now. Flaco looks to Corrigan. Corrigan gives a tiny shake of his head. Not here. Not yet. CORRIGAN (38), clean-shaven, wearing his prison blues like
Harper stands by the control booth. He sees Angel’s face. No sympathy. HARPER > Told you. Don’t look at anyone’s cards. Angel doesn’t respond. He just keeps walking. Dark. The only light is from the corridor, seeping under the door. That’s the whole conversation