Jail's just another Alehouse

Smith, the amnesiac repeated, attention shifting from Colt to what lied past the bars of their cell. I'll take it. It will always remind me I have a friend, somewhere, he said warmly. You be careful with whatever makes you forget. Maybe it is what made me forget, for all we know. He spoke as a kind neighbor might tell another neighbor their pig got loose and which way it went. Then, he shrugged, and let the door slap shut on his problem. He had a name now, and nothing could be done about the rest of it.

So I'm Smithy, he said, enjoying the word. And I got this, he said, pulling out the slim spoon. Slim enough to jig a lock, which was hard when you couldn't see the inside of the mechanism, but Smithy thought he could fiddle with it. He looked long at the lock, holding the spoon. He hadn't fiddled with it because he'd been wondering how he knew he could fiddle with it. But now that Smithy's buddy was in here with him, he figured he ought to stop thinking of just himself.

Good size, yes?