Beggars Can't Be Choosers

As many of you know, aggravated vagrancy has long been a capital crime here in our little principality.  Alejandro, my late cell mate, three times convicted of it, asked in my presence for a sumptuous meal for his last, as is the custom.  He wanted ground lamb with Mediterranean spices, potatoes au gratin, creamed corn, and chocolate pudding with whipped cream.  As it turned out, many of the required ingredients were not to be found in the prison pantry, so he was offered instead a bowl of Grape-Nuts soaked in Fanta.

As they were taking him away the following morning, Alejandro pleaded with me to file a formal protest on his behalf.  I told him that I would do it, but do it I did not.  

Cuius intersit hoc?  And besides, why should I stick my neck out in a land that since 1880 has had the guillotine on its 500 flingan note?

It's a harsh world.