[s4e1]: When I Get Out

Angela’s face is the ghost that haunts the periphery of his vision. The woman who was supposed to be the exit strategy became the warden. It’s a poetic kind of cruelty—to be locked away not for the sins you actually committed, but for the one thing you didn't do. The irony is a bitter pill that refuses to be swallowed. "When I get out," he whispers.

The light in the cell flickers.The suit is gone.The empire is crumbling.But the man? The man is just beginning to remember who he used to be before he tried to be "Saint." [S4E1] When I Get Out

The walls aren't made of concrete; they’re made of every lie told to Tasha, every secret kept from Tommy, and every drop of blood spilled on the way to a clean life that was never actually clean. Outside, the city moves without him. It’s a ghost town inhabited by the living, while he sits in a living tomb. Angela’s face is the ghost that haunts the

He looks at his hands. They are clean of physical dirt, yet they feel heavy. The irony is a bitter pill that refuses to be swallowed