In the August issue of Esquire (on newsstands now, but not yet online), there’s a story  by Brian Mockenhaupt called “The Tunnel,” in which inmate Joe Hoffman, encountering sand under the concrete floor of his cell while attempting to procure his freedom, pretty much sums up the quiet desperation of adult men everywhere:

“Its golden-brown luster brought back childhood memories: a family vacation in Brighton, Michigan. I was five years old…running from the car to the beach…feeling the warm sand beneath my feet…building sand castles…the smell of the lake and the sound of the water…chasing minnows in the shallows near the shore…splashing…playing…laughing…a time of innocence. My mind a clean slate. I could have been anything but wanted to be an astronaut. Big dream for such a small boy. I wondered what happened to him? How did I ever end up in prison?

To find that little boy on the beach, Hoffman tried to tunnel forty feet under the prison yard. Mark Cuban bought a basketball team. As Sophie Tucker observed, it’s better to be rich if you can arrange it.

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