Metaphores are a man's best friend

The gates opened at 2 o'clock. He only had 2 hours to spend his time sitting on the grass of the parks before he had to go back to his cell. Every night, he was prepared a couple of minutes before the doors started to open, so he could spend every single minute of those hours. It was marvelous. The feeling of freedom he felt once he was out was indescribable. It wasn't good or bad, it was, that's everything. He could see the world, in a good or in a bad way, but that's not the point. He was out, and he could run all over the grass until he was exhausted. Then he would go to a bench so he could think about everything that had happened since he had been released from his room, just a couple minutes before he went back to the place he remained. At 4 o'clock, he would start walking back again, irrationally, and he would get into his bed, so he could get enough sleep to face the daytime terrible world.