Snow fell quietly on Dan Arnold as he stood outside US Bank. The bank wouldn't open for another 45 minutes, a banker emerged to tell him. But Arnold had nowhere else to go.

He had been a free man for less than an hour. He had no cash, no phone, no car of his own - just a check that was no use if he couldn't cash it.

Arnold put his hands in his pockets, shifting and looking at the ground. He had spent much of the past decade incarcerated, and now he was on his own, released on parole from the Twin Falls Community Work Center.

Without money, without direction, the elation of earning his freedom was wearing off.

"I don't know," he finally said.

The unscheduled, unscripted world hadn't been his for years.

Arnold was released at 8 a.m. on April 9 after four years incarcerated for dealing methamphetamine. He spent seven months at the Twin Falls work center, released to haul boxes and count inventory for S & G Produce.

On that April morning, Arnold signed papers acknowledging the conditions of his release: No associating with felons, no drinking, no leaving the district. Expect random drug tests. Attend weekly Alcoholics and Narcotics Anonymous meetings. Meet a parole officer every two weeks.

Arnold signed the papers and collected belongings that had been held by the state - among them, an old identification card with a photo of a grungier, dead-eyed Arnold. He shook the work center employees' hands and walked out the door.

Arnold's friend Juan Llona picked him up from the center and helped him load his two boxes into the car. An unseasonable snow greeted Arnold on his first morning of freedom - a fact work center employees noted. Hell of a day to be getting out, they said.

"Any day's a good day," Arnold told them.

The Twin Falls Community Work Center is a transitional facility between prison and the real world. Many Idaho inmates spend the last year of their sentences at work centers, where they learn life skills and are required to hold jobs.

According to an Urban Institute study, prisoners reintegrating into society face limited availability of jobs and housing while dealing with health and substance abuse problems. The Idaho Department of Corrections aims to ease that stress with halfway houses, work centers, therapy programs and other tools that inmates can use - or ignore.

At the Twin Falls work center, eligible inmates may work at pre-approved sites throughout the city. A van takes them to and from their jobs. While at work, the inmates must follow rules - no off-site lunches, no going on deliveries.

Les Harper, job site coordinator at the work center, said many employers are open to hiring inmates.

"They know they're going to show up every day. They know they're going to be on time,"he said.

To be eligible for community custody at one of the five work centers in Idaho, inmates must be within a year of a tentative release date. Although there is no guarantee of release within that 12 months, it prepares the inmates to better handle their break from a structured, monitored life and into the real world.

For Arnold, it seems, the system worked.

After they left the work center, Llona took Arnold straight to S & G Produce to claim his first check. Several S & G employees, including Llona, are former work center inmates, and the manager had agreed to keep Arnold on after his release.

Although Arnold was paid for his work while incarcerated, the money went straight into a savings account, with 30 percent going to the state to help cover his living expenses. Arnold could access some money for supervised shopping trips, but left the bulk of his earnings alone to give him a good start to his new life.

"It's so nice to get these instead of a copy of them," Arnold said, clutching his check. He thanked his co-workers for well-wishes, then headed to the bank with Llona, only to find it closed.

After Arnold waffled about what to do, Llona finally offered to take him to Depot Grill. They sat in the parking lot while Arnold called his mother with Llona's phone. It was the first time he had used a cell phone since 2005. Throughout the conversation, Arnold looked around, waiting to be caught with the phone that was off-limits to him just hours before.

In the diner, Arnold said little. He had already eaten breakfast at the work center - the kitchen staff made him a special cheese omelet to send him off. So he ordered a cup of coffee and sat, smiling quietly, peering through the blinds at the snow. He commented on the comfortable seats and chuckled at overheard truckers' conversations.

"For the first day, at least, everything's new," Llona said.

When inmates first enter the prison system, they take a standard series of diagnostic tests. Based on the outcome of those tests, prison assessors set up an individual case plan to treat the inmate. Plans can include AA and NA meetings, Cognitive Self Change Therapy, Moral Recognition Therapy and other programs that force inmates to confront the causes of their antisocial tendencies.

"The case plan is basically like a road map for an inmate," said Dr. Mary Perrien of the Idaho Department of Corrections. "If you want to have the opportunity to change your life, follow this road map."

The prospect of earlier release dates encourages inmates to cooperate, and most do, Perrien said.

"Between annual statistical reports and research, it clearly shows that when people participate in these programs, they are less likely to recidivate," she said. "These things are very powerful. They really, truly are opportunities for people to change their lives."

Still, some turn them down.

"They don't want to do the work that's involved," Perrien said. "They don't want to look at their lives and their choices and so they opt out."

Arnold opted in.

And Llona doesn't expect to see this one jailed again.

"You know who's going back and who's actually got their head together," Llona said.

At 9:30 a.m., Llona and Arnold went back to the bank. While Arnold cashed his check, a customer with tattoos on his neck walked in and greeted the pair. "Just got out this morning,"Arnold told him.

The man was a former work center inmate, too, Llona explained. "We're everywhere in this town."

Arnold collected his money and stuffed it in his wallet with a grin. He had cash, and for once, he had earned it legally.

Arnold checked in at the Capris Motel across town, where a co-worker had arranged for a room. The desk clerk asked: You're the one from the work center? Yes, Arnold answered without flinching.

Finally, Arnold held the keys to his room, to privacy. He walked across the parking lot, grinning broadly, ready for his sanctuary after years of prison roommates.

The moment turned anticlimactic when Arnold couldn't get the door open. After jostling the lock for almost a minute, he finally freed the knob.

The room was humble, but Arnold couldn't have been happier. He inspected the closet, the furniture. "Whoo-hoo!" And the bathroom. "I get my own shower." He turned on the television - finally, he could watch whatever he wanted -- but found only static. "Oh, well."

He unpacked, still grinning. He put his Bible on the table, shifted through papers, and took towels to the bathroom. Suddenly, he announced that he wanted to buy a coffee maker.

Llona asked: Where do you want to go? Anywhere, Arnold said, but the two stores that work center inmates may visit on supervised shopping trips.

Arnold settled on Shopko, and the two set off across town. Arnold made his way to the coffee makers, still beaming. The smile abruptly disappeared when he confronted the long aisle of appliances.

"Holy moley," he said, staring at the array of options. Makers with timers, makers for six or 12 cups, makers with espresso attachments. Llona gave him time.

After a few minutes, Arnold settled on a standard Black &Decker model - 12 cups, no timer, nothing fancy. He bypassed other household necessities and bought only filters and a can of Folgers.

His smile returned when he pulled out his money to pay.

"I'm somebody now," he said. He walked to the foyer, then stopped, suddenly somber.

For the first time, Arnold was free to make his own decisions - decisions that could improve his life, or land him back in prison. And just inside Shopko's automatic doors, that freedom overwhelmed him.

"Where to now?" Llona asked.

Arnold looked out at the snow.

"I don't know what to do," he said.

Melissa Davlin may be reached at 208-735-3234 or melissa.davlin@lee.net.

About this series From February to July, Times-News features writer Melissa Davlin shadowed Daniel David Arnold as the convicted meth dealer prepared for parole, walked out on the day of his release from the Twin Falls Community Work Center, and adjusted to freedom and sobriety. She also interviewed Arnold's mother, his parole officer, work center employees and Idaho Department of Corrections representatives, and gathered statistics on Idaho inmates from the Urban Institute Justice Policy Center and the Corrections Department. Sunday: With parole, Arnold gets another chance at building the sober life he never had. Monday: Arnold's first day out of jail brings bewildering choices - and the elating freedom to choose. Today: In his first three months out, Arnold builds a routine and one important relationship.