“How ya doing, they call me Squeaky.”
“Well this is it,” Squeaky said. “Home sweet home. I’m a lifer. I killed somebody. It’s been so long ago I can’t remember who it was. Oh that’s right, it was my last cell mate. I have short term memory loss. Hey I’m just kidding, but I did murder someone. What are you in here for?”
“Murder also,” Mike said.
“Sit down here partner, Squeaky said patting his bunk, “You tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine.”
“Not much of a story,” Mike said. “I laughed at this guy. I thought he was being funny. He wasn’t. He felt insulted. He took offense to it. He pulled out a knife and I pulled out a gun.”
“Couldn’t you get off with self-defense?” Squeaky said.
“That ain’t the way the jury saw it. I swear I’ll never laugh at a guy again,” Mike said. What about you?”
“You talk about cruel irony,” Squeaky said. “I was a comedian and this guy wouldn’t laugh at my jokes so I killed him.”
Mike was nervous, but broke his promise and laughed.
“I didn’t mean that to be funny,” Squeaky said.
“Oh, it wasn’t,” Mike said, “it was your delivery.”