Prisoner No. 12 sits on the floor of his cell in the deep, dark silence in his soliloquy:

“All these 1000 miles, 1000 days, the 1000 styles have mattered nay – it has all just been me and world *Exhale*”

as he raps on the bedframe in a gallop rhythm, ra-pa–pa–pum, ra-pa–pa–pum, ra-pa–pa–pum, ra-…

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