From Sentence, a memoir, which will be published next month by Viking.

The entire time I was in prison, I owned a typewriter, and it was on this typewriter that I wrote contracts to purchase the souls of fellow prisoners. My skill on the machine was part of my undoing: my contract for souls looked too real in the eyes of the cops. The document simply stated that, in exchange for a desired item—which was a cup of coffee, in three of the five cases—the seller would transfer ownership of his immortal soul to the buyer, me. With only…