enty…whatever　would　not　hesitate　to　pluck　a　safety　razor　from　its　blue　jar　of　disinfectant；　if　the　urge　seemed　pressing。　You　know　murderers；　even　if　they　finish　up　as　old　lady　librarians　in　dozey　little　towns。　At　least　you　do　if　you've　spent　as　much　time　minding　murderers　as　I　did。　There　was　only　one　time　I　ever　had　a　question　about　the　nature　of　my　job。　That；　I　reckon；　is　why　I'm　writing　this。

The　wide　corridor　up　the　center　of　E　Block　was　floored　with　linoleum　the　color　of　tired　old　limes；　and　so　what　was　called　the　Last　Mile　at　other　prisons　was　called　the　Green　Mile　at　Cold　Mountain。　It　ran；　I　guess；　sixty　long　paces　from　south　to　north；　bottom　to　top。　At　the　bottom　was　the　restraint　room。　At　the　top　end　was　a　T…junction。　A　left　turn　meant　life…if　you　called　what　went　on　in　the　sunbaked　exercise　yard　life；　and　many　did；　many　lived　it　for　years；　with　no　apparent　ill　effects。　Thieves　and　arsonists　and　sex　criminals；　all　talking　their　talk　and　walking　their　walk　and　making　their　little　deals。

A　right　turn；　though　…　that　was　different。　First　you　went　into　my　office　（where　the　carpet　was　also　green；　a　thing　I　kept　meaning　to　change　and　not　getting　around　to）；　and　crossed　in　front　of　my　desk；　which　was　flanked　by　the　American　flag　on　the　left　and　the　state　flag　on　the　right。　On　the　far　side　were　two　doors。　One　led　into　the　small　W。C。　that　I　and　the　Block　E　guards　（sometimes　even　Warden　Moores）　used；　the　other　opened　on　a　kind　of　storage　shed。　This　was　where　you　ended　up　when　you　walked　the　Green　Mile。

It　was　a　small　door　…　I　had　to　duck　my　head　when　I　went　through；　and　John　Coffey　actually　had　to　sit　and　scoot。　You　came　out　on　a　little　landing；　then　went　down　three　cement　steps　to　a　board　floor。　It　was　a　miserable　room　without　heat　and　with　a　metal　ro