model. I was God. Plus, I knew that if anything ever happened to my daddy, then I would automatically be the man of the house. So, in a lot of ways I never got to be the kid I wanted to be. I always felt like I was the one who had to help my mother with the cooking and the groceries and the laundry and defending the house and everything else. I always felt like a little
man trapped inside a boyâs body, like I couldnât fuck up. Maybe thatâs why I acted like a fool in school and started hanging out and shit. I donât know. In here though, I canât feel like a little man. I gotta feel like I can handle anything, like I can take anything a motherfucker wanna give me. I only seen a handful of whitesâonly about ten inmates total in my wing. But they still running things cause itâs only a handful of us in blue. Most of the guards is white, mean, red-faced motherfuckers who talk like they ainât from New York. In here, black stick with black, Puerto Rican with Puerto Rican. Just like life. Everybody got they territoryâimaginary lines in the mess hall, the showers, the phones, the yard. Separate but UNequal, just like life. Itâs a few exceptions to that rule, a few cats in here who go âthatâ way. But not too many.
After a day of analyzing me and shit, they decided I should go to a Level 2, medium security block. First few days, I just ate by myself. I walked around the yard by myself. I didnât talk to nobody. I pretended like I was deaf and dumb. I would nod my head and that was it. I was focused on maintaining the mental. I wanted everybody to think I was crazy so I could get my respect. So they think Iâm one of them niggers who seem all quiet and innocent like, but whoâll cut your throat in a minute if you make em mad. Thatâs what I wanted people to think about me, just in case they was planning on trying to fuck with me. And nobody bothered me. They left me alone. Didnât try to kid with me. I know I promised you I never would, but Iâm thinking about getting with a gang. If you ainât gotta
squad when you come in, you donât get no props coming through the door. You gotta fight for that shit like your life depends on it, cause it does. So I donât want to, but Iâm thinking I need some protection. Until then, Iâll just keep being quiet and crazy.
We get up everyday at 6, lights out at 10. Thatâs how it is in here. Itâs actually kind of boring up here. Itâs nothing like you see on TV. Itâs no fights, no beating up with the guards, no screaming and yelling against the bars like animals in cages. When we go out in the yard, or the rec room, people just kind of hang with the same two or three cats all the time. Iâm glad itâs not like that. I was really really scared at first about being here because I thought thatâs how it was gonna be.
Itâs two of us in my cell, which is really like a tiny room. Two grown niggaz and one toilet thatâs real low to the ground with a rusty-ass sink on it. Iâll piss in there or whatever, but I wonât do a number two. I canât do it. Not even when my stomach hurt so bad I think Iâm gonna throw up. I just wait until itâs time for the showers or the yards, and I get one of the guards to escort me to one of the bathrooms. Thereâs no door on the stalls, but at least itâs a space between them, and if nobody in there I donât have to worry about them smelling on me. I would be too embarrassed. Plus, the guards be too busy talking or reading a girlie book anyway to pay attention. But my cellmate act like he donât care, like it donât bother him. He blow up the spot every day, and I just act like I donât see it or smell it.
But in my cell is this spic named Benito and right next
to us is this cat named Mohammed. Benito real quiet and shy, like a little kid on they first day of school. But he try to conversate
man trapped inside a boyâs body, like I couldnât fuck up. Maybe thatâs why I acted like a fool in school and started hanging out and shit. I donât know. In here though, I canât feel like a little man. I gotta feel like I can handle anything, like I can take anything a motherfucker wanna give me. I only seen a handful of whitesâonly about ten inmates total in my wing. But they still running things cause itâs only a handful of us in blue. Most of the guards is white, mean, red-faced motherfuckers who talk like they ainât from New York. In here, black stick with black, Puerto Rican with Puerto Rican. Just like life. Everybody got they territoryâimaginary lines in the mess hall, the showers, the phones, the yard. Separate but UNequal, just like life. Itâs a few exceptions to that rule, a few cats in here who go âthatâ way. But not too many.
After a day of analyzing me and shit, they decided I should go to a Level 2, medium security block. First few days, I just ate by myself. I walked around the yard by myself. I didnât talk to nobody. I pretended like I was deaf and dumb. I would nod my head and that was it. I was focused on maintaining the mental. I wanted everybody to think I was crazy so I could get my respect. So they think Iâm one of them niggers who seem all quiet and innocent like, but whoâll cut your throat in a minute if you make em mad. Thatâs what I wanted people to think about me, just in case they was planning on trying to fuck with me. And nobody bothered me. They left me alone. Didnât try to kid with me. I know I promised you I never would, but Iâm thinking about getting with a gang. If you ainât gotta
squad when you come in, you donât get no props coming through the door. You gotta fight for that shit like your life depends on it, cause it does. So I donât want to, but Iâm thinking I need some protection. Until then, Iâll just keep being quiet and crazy.
We get up everyday at 6, lights out at 10. Thatâs how it is in here. Itâs actually kind of boring up here. Itâs nothing like you see on TV. Itâs no fights, no beating up with the guards, no screaming and yelling against the bars like animals in cages. When we go out in the yard, or the rec room, people just kind of hang with the same two or three cats all the time. Iâm glad itâs not like that. I was really really scared at first about being here because I thought thatâs how it was gonna be.
Itâs two of us in my cell, which is really like a tiny room. Two grown niggaz and one toilet thatâs real low to the ground with a rusty-ass sink on it. Iâll piss in there or whatever, but I wonât do a number two. I canât do it. Not even when my stomach hurt so bad I think Iâm gonna throw up. I just wait until itâs time for the showers or the yards, and I get one of the guards to escort me to one of the bathrooms. Thereâs no door on the stalls, but at least itâs a space between them, and if nobody in there I donât have to worry about them smelling on me. I would be too embarrassed. Plus, the guards be too busy talking or reading a girlie book anyway to pay attention. But my cellmate act like he donât care, like it donât bother him. He blow up the spot every day, and I just act like I donât see it or smell it.
But in my cell is this spic named Benito and right next
to us is this cat named Mohammed. Benito real quiet and shy, like a little kid on they first day of school. But he try to conversate
Similar Books
