Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. And I have paid for it.

I spent part of Monday afternoon in jail. It was not a pleasant experience. The cell was no bigger than a kitchen table, the "bed" was nothing more than a stained and graffiti-filled sheet of canvas that was pulled so taut over a steel frame a dollar bill would have jumped off. There was no wash basin, no toilet, no window ... just me and the deadly silence punctuated by the CLANG! when the door was slammed behind me.

Images of Cagney and Robinson and Bogart raced through my head. But this was no vintage black-and-white Warner Bros. classic. This was the real brown (jail bars) and white (brick walls) thing. If I only had a bar of soap, I could whittle a mock gun, use black shoe polish to color it and ... damn! I've seen too many gangster flicks and read too many tales of Dillinger and his gang.

Some people last five, 10, 20, 50 years behind bars. I lasted two minutes.

Here I was, visiting the former Allegheny County Jail. It opened as a museum in 2005, about six years after a more modern jail facility was built on Second Avenue. It's a perfect free getaway for those who want to experience life in the Big House knowing that, unlike the tens of thousands of prisoners who called the place home from 1886-1995, unlike those who walked along the Bridge of Sighs on their way to and from their cells and the courthouse for trial, unlike those who were executed in the old courtyard, you can let out a big sigh and freely walk out of the building.

Or head over to Allegheny Sandwich Shop for a last meal.

The tour is available only on Monday and is self-guided, although docent Bob Loos is there, notebook in hands, facts on his fingertips. The Allegheny County Jail Museum, as it is now called, is inside the Family Division of the Allegheny Court of Common Pleas, a stunning homage to 11th-century Romanesque architecture. Between 1999 and 2001, the building was renovated, with one block of nine cells preserved. Designated a National Historic Landmark in 1973, the jail is owned by Allegheny County, with Pittsburgh History & Landmarks Foundation overseeing tours.

Prisoners included men, women and children until 1901, when the Juvenile Act was passed and wee ones sent to a separate building on Ross Street. Mr. Loos points out that no guards were killed here, but in the '70s, a prisoner brought a class-action suit against Allegheny County demanding improved living conditions. He got his way: The jail was later equipped with a bake shop, a kitchen, a gym, a dining room and two living quarters. Hmmmm ... a new definition of Holiday Inn(carceration)?

Two display cases hold much memorabilia that will either fascinate or frighten. There's an escape log, a murder book, samples of jail house currency, old keys, a register of names of incoming inmates including that of Tom Sigert -- a 7-year-old from Pittsburgh.

Most striking are the photos of Ed and Jack Biddle, two brothers sentenced to hang for the murder of a Mount Washington grocer. Enter Mrs. Soffel, the warden's wife and one of those dizzy dames who had a thing for danger. She fell in love with Ed and helped him and his brother escape. The boys were killed and the Mrs. was wounded. She was imprisoned for six years, then moved to the North Side and worked as a seamstress.

All was sort of forgotten for about 80 years until 1984, when Diane Keaton played Mrs. Soffel (and Mel Gibson played Ed) in a film that churned up that Biddle Twiddle again. Movie mavens take note: Scenes from several films were shot at the old jail, most notably "The Silence of the Lambs." Although truth be told, the jail's hallways were too narrow for cameras, so a warehouse once owned by the Landmarks Foundation was turned into a sound stage where many shots from the thriller were filmed.

Me? I cannot be silent. I cannot go out like a lamb. All this heavy metal and stiff canvases are making me loony. I decide it's time to con my way out of here. I remind Bob I parked at a 60-minute meter, and time has run out. And so I run out -- if I'm going to start a life of a crime, it ain't gonna be over a parking ticket.