"Why do I need this help? You're ruining me!" So begins a dialogue between a bundle of nerves prisoner
and a short, Germanic man, apparently of letters, who controls the prisoner's fate. Standing in the desolation
of the institution's yard, the authority figure attempts to convince the prisoner that if he were "sent back to
prison today, [he would] be back to Bridgeport today or tomorrow." As if to emphasize the point and to
garnish it with an air of legitimacy, the authority figure, who would appear to be a psychiatrist, asserts,
"If you don't believe me, you can spit in [my] face." Pressing the matter still further, the prisoner asks,
"How do you know that I am a schizophrenic- paranoid?" to which the doctor retorts,
"Because you had psychological testing."
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