I must have counted those 12 paces a dozen times, but once more I rattle them off in my head: one, two, three, four, five, six…. From the hole I dug in my cell, covered from sight the majority of the time by my storage desk, to under the prison wall and, at last--one, two, three, four, five, six, a dozen more times--to the fresh air, the singing birds. One, two, three, four…I can't afford to this screw up, not again. That night, as the guards patrolled the darkened corridors, I reached the end of an underground tunnel I spent the last two weeks digging. I reached that twelfth step, just beyond that accursed concrete barrier, readied a shovel crafted from a sheet of metal and duct tape, looked up, and began to dig--one month to walk 12 steps, but it was worth the wait.