One is a Lonely Number

After 4 years, 10 months, 11 days, Larry Camonille got outside and ran. He ran as far and as fast as he could on his one rotting lung—all that was left after the misery of dank prison walls.

He ran, but he didn’t quite know why. Maybe he was trying to outrace the cops, get down to Mexico where the air was dry and clear and the law couldn’t follow. Maybe he was just a corpse looking for a place to l...