Sisyphean, indeed.

[Petitioner]

I.N.D.E.N.T He chose this. He chose this. He chose this. Nobody made him. Everybody had their struggles, Jimmy included, but his life was what he had made of it, and even if the rug he stood on had been made in a factory on Honshu by a subsidiary of a subsidiary of Kishiro Technologies, the repetitively criss-crossing prison bars on it were of his own design. Jimmy tried desperately to forget that. Let the smell of vomit fill his nostrils. Let the barely-audible buzzing of the lights overwhelm his ears. Let the sterile-white hallway wall occupy the entirety of his vision and force his optical nerves to transmit the same picture to his brain nearly seventy-seven times per second. Think about how he chose this, how flawed he is, how many sins he committed every day, no, think about the smell of vomit, think about the barely-audible buzzing of the lights, think about the sterile-white hallway, think about...

I.N.D.E.N.T No. Think about all the hurt. Think about all the irresponsibility. Think about all the burdens he agreed to shoulder and then dumped into the bin when he thought nobody was looking. Think about all his flaws. Think about how he deserved to be followed by himself no matter how many light years he flew. This was only a prison because Jimmy was a criminal and he made it one, because he couldn't think about those things. Jimmy wondered if he could ever think about them. He wondered who he should call about the pile of vomit he'd just made. Could he even speak over the intercom, or would the guilt catch in his throat and make that pile on the floor the last thing to ever come out of his mouth?