The convicts rejoiced. Things couldn’t have gone any better. They had burrowed their way out of the penetentiary before the clock struck midnight, and they figured that bought them at least a few hours before their absence was noticed. They’d made it down to the pier, and as they ran it rained, hard. Soon the snow was all gone and their footprints, obliterated. They had made it to the river in record time and stole a rowboat which would quickly whisk them as far as Kalamazoo.
“Don’t let those waves rock us too much,” said the first convict.
“Why not?” asked the second. “I feel free.”
“If it rocks, we might sink and drown.”
“It doesn’t matter. Our existence is strictly provisional, and perhaps even the fabrication of a greater mind than ours.”