Prison Break

If you do the crime, you’ve got to be prepared to do the time. That’s what they say, but let me tell you, when the fuzz dragged me out of my digs, screaming like the fanbelt on my old Vauxhall Astra, I didn’t feel prepared for the chokey.
The judge gave me twenty years after the jury returned a unanimous guilty verdict. Apparently, it took them all of twenty seconds to reach it; they elected to spend the rest of the two hours playing Pictionary, just to add to the suspense. Although, if you ask me, if you want a game with suspense, try Buckaroo.
I was twelve days into my sentence when I decided to escape. Me and a permissive Filipino lag called Eduardo crept out dressed as a pantomime horse. Regrettably, once we were clear, we grew listless and lost our way, eventually wandering onto the Grand National racecourse, midrace. We were doing well until we took a nasty tumble on the last furlong and Eduardo had to be euthanized.
Now, as I sit in my cell, contemplating my now-doubled sentence; I am sniffing the very same glue that Eduardo was made into. Cosmic, eh?