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Magic was six foot four and the top of the door to my cell was five ten. He had to duck to get in. It was evening association, when the cells are unlocked from six to eight and prisoners are allowed to visit one another and socialise.

“All right, Chalky?” he said.

“I’m fine, apart from being in prison,” I said.

Magic settled on the bed, opened one of his enormous hands and showed me a joint, the end neatly twisted. I smiled and handed him my Zippo.…

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