Red stares through the bars at the main floor below, eyes riveted to the small puddle of blood where Fat-Ass went down.

RED (V.O.)

His first night in the joint, Andy Dufresne cost me two packs of cigarettes. He never made a sound…

INT -- CELLBLOCK FIVE -- MORNING (1947)

LOUD BUZZER. The master locks are thrown -- KA-THUMP! The cons step from their cells, lining the tiers. The GUARDS holler their head-counts to the HEAD BULL, who jots on a clipboard. Red peers at Andy, checking him out. Andy stands in line, collar buttoned, hair combed.

INT -- MESS HALL -- MORNING (1947)

Andy goes through the breakfast line, gets a scoop of glop on his tray. WE PAN ANDY through the noise and confusion…and discover BOGS DIAMOND and ROOSTER MacBRIDE watching Andy go by. Bogs sizes Andy up with a salacious gleam in his eye, mutters something to Rooster. Rooster laughs.

Andy finds a table occupied by Red and his regulars, chooses a spot at the end where nobody is sitting. Ignoring their stares, he picks up his spoon -- and pauses, seeing something in his food. He carefully fishes it out with his fingers.

It's a squirming maggot. Andy grimaces, unsure what to do with it. BROOKS HATLEN is sitting closest to Andy. At age 65, he's a senior citizen, a long-standing resident.

BROOKS

You gonna eat that?

ANDY

Hadn't planned on it.

BROOKS

You mind?

Andy passes the maggot to Brooks. Brooks examines it, rolling it between his fingertips like a man checking out a fine cigar. Andy is riveted with apprehension.

BROOKS

Mmm. Nice and ripe.

Andy can't bear to watch. Brooks opens up his sweater and feeds the maggot to a baby crow nestled in an inside pocket. Andy breathes a sigh of relief.

BROOKS

Jake says thanks. Fell out of his nest over by the plate shop. I'm lookin' after him till he's old enough to fly.

Andy nods, proceeds to eat. Carefully. Heywood approaches.

JIGGER

Oh, Christ, here he comes.

HEYWOOD

Mornin', boys. It's a fine mornin'. You know why it's fine?

Heywood plops his tray down, sits. The men start pulling out cigarettes and handing them down.

HEYWOOD

That's right, send 'em all down. I wanna see 'em lined up in a row, pretty as a chorus line.

An impressive pile forms. Heywood bends down and inhales deeply, smelling the aroma. Rapture.

FLOYD

Smell my ass…

HEYWOOD

Gee, Red. Terrible shame, your horse comin' in last and all. Hell, I sure do love that horse of mine. I believe I owe that boy a big sloppy kiss when I see him.

RED

Give him some'a your cigarettes instead, cheap bastard.

HEYWOOD

Say Tyrell, you pull infirmary duty this week? How's that winnin' horse of mine, anyway?

TYRELL

Dead.

(the men fall silent)

Hadley busted his head pretty good. Doc already went home for the night. Poor bastard lay there till this morning. By then…

He shakes his head, turns back to his food. The silence mounts. Heywood glances around. Men resume eating. Softly: