The crisp, cool breeze ruffled his hair. He could smell the rich, earthy reek of manure from the nearby farms; it was so much cleaner than the cycle of urine, feces and industrial cleaning solution that had marked the passing of his hours. The gates slid open before him, unveiling a vast green world without ceiling or walls.

The clamp of cuffs loosened and fell away, and he rubbed his wrists. The red indentations in his skin were fading. He was handed his worn duffel; it was surprisingly light. “Don’t ever come back here,” the warden said.

He’d never worn such comfortable shoes. The suit he thought he’d be buried in made him feel alive. He’d been an animal. He adjusted the tie that reminded him he was a man.

Outside, the drab, squat buildings looked so small against the endless green horizon. He would have scoffed at who he was now; he wouldn’t have listened. He couldn’t have imagined this. His friends wouldn’t get it.

He clutched the phone numbers tightly. So much to make right.