Runaway Train Page #2

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I'm going nowhere. | Come on!

Come on.

Make your move!

Hey, sucker. | You show me sh*t!

No, no! | He's mine!

Get off! Hey, get off! | Let me go!

I'll kill you!

I'll tear your f***ing head off!

Oh, my God! | Can't someone do something about--

Mandatory lockup! | All prisoners in their cell.

All prisoners in their cell.

Mandatory lockup.

You look terrible.

I ain't dead.

They released me | to the yard.

He wants to kill you for sure.

He's pushing me.

He wants me to jump the wall. | He's pushing me.

It's 30 below out there.

I'm going. You coming?

Are you coming? | I'll wait for you.

No, brother.

This is home.

I run things around here.

I can't take these ass-kickings | like I used to.

I can make it.

Then get on, brother, | and do it.

I will.

Whatever happens, | don't let 'em bring you back here.

Yeah.

I'll find something.

Nice joint in the sun.

The bull's on the stairs.

Let's split!

- Have fun. | - You too.

There's gonna be convicts | watching you, brother.

Don't let 'em ice you. | It'll break a lot of soul.

You know, you got a following. | And I love you.

Coming through!

Hit the basket, man.

Coming through.

Hey, you guys. | Hit the basket, okay? Goddamn!

Coming through.

Get in here | and check my laundry.

You're late, man.

I'm sorry, man. They were late | with the showers. Here.

Coming through, boss.

Yeah.

- How are you doing, Jackson? | - What's up.

What's up? | Little bit of laundry, huh?

Jackson...

have I got | a surprise for you, man.

- What is it? | - You know, you told me your son...

is going to the golden gloves | this year.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Jackson, check 'em out, man.

- Thanks, Buck. | - You betcha.

And I'll tell you what.

Since you have always been | so goddamn good to me...

you get these suckers for $80.

They go for 200, | but you got 'em for $80, boss.

- I don't have $80, Buck. | - No problem. I tell you what we'll do.

We'll put you on layaway plan. | That is, you get me when you get me.

- All right, my man. | - No problem. This could work out.

- This is all right. | - Yeah.

- Yeah. Nice, huh? | - This is all right.

Ooh, mama!

January, 1985!

This b*tch is a creme de la creme | of white p*ssy.

- Ain't she, Jackson? | - All right.

Yeah, man. Hugh Hefner sure knows | what the f*** he's doing, don't he?

- Yeah. | - You got that right.

- What? | - She might be white, but she's right.

Right on, Buck. | Hey, let me give you a hand.

Uh, all right.

- You tell your boy I said good luck. | - Thanks.

- Thanks for everything, man. | - You betcha.

Just walking | with the laundry, boss.

Say, man. White p*ssy gets that | son of a b*tch every goddamn time.

Shut up.

All right, man. | Come on.

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