Michael: Haywire. You ever thought of breaking out?
Haywire: What the hell would I do out there?
Michael: Not be here.
Haywire: Halfway houses, psych visits, meds, checking in with a P.O., urine tests, keeping a job... No. Why you
Michael: This guy was talking about it in the yard yesterday. I didn't know
what to say.
Haywire: Tell officer Bellick. He'll make life easy for you, if, uh...
Michael: If what?
Haywire: Your tattoos.
Michael: What about them?
Haywire: What are they of? No no no... What are they? Like, some kind of a...
Michael: They're just tattoos.
C.O.: It's candy time, Haywire.
Haywire: They think I have schizo-affective disorder with bipolar tendencies.
C.O.: Think you got it?
Haywire: Whatever. Ah! I take the pills, keep the quacks off my back. Bye, now. Get out of the way.
Michael: You know, maybe they give you those things for a reason.
Haywire: Yeah. To keep me dull. To keep me in their invisible freakin'
handcuffs. Seriously, though, those tattoos, they're beautiful. You mind if I,
you know, look at the whole thing?
Michael: I do, actually.
C.O.: Yo! Stand clear!
Michael: Does there need to be a reason?
Sucre: I ain't even talking to you, man.
Abruzzi: What's the problem?
Michael: Nothing I can't handle.
Abruzzi: Well, I knew there was a problem. I could tell by looking at you
from across the yard. Hey, guys, didn't I say there was a problem? So what's the
Michael: You're looking at it.
Abruzzi: What? Haywire?
Michael: Yep. That's my new cellmate. That's a problem. He doesn't sleep.
Abruzzi: So, when do you dig?
Michael: I don't.
Abruzzi: Hey, you and I are in
bed now. You made me promise. You said that we were going to get
out of here. You renege now, and I'm going to gut you. So, you better take care
of your business, or I will take care of you. Have a nice day.