Writers Corner

    “Disguised As God” - Keeping up with the Con

    84767DED-C4D3-4986-9EB4-CDE24195D232

    My hand was hurting from all the writing I had done. I felt like I was in grade school when the teacher would have you write punishment sentences 100 times each from the board. I only had 2 more letters to go. I tried to get at least 10 in every night. I was good at math and it was just basic probability that I would catch at least 2 winners a month. All I was doing at this point was writing the same letter but changing the names and addresses. My "bunkie" was sleep, so all I had was a small flash light to see my work. I was getting annoyed with myself because my handwriting started to get sloppy.

    I became immune to the banging and rattling sounds in my unit. I was used to having no privacy and having to watch my back every second. These guys were truly restless, but I just kept my mind on my business, not letting anything distract me. I just wanted to get through my time. I've always been a survivor, and nothing had changed behind bars. The deafening announcement by one of the officers over the speaker system got my attention though.

    "Couuunnt time!"

    We were counted at 4:15 pm, 9 pm, 12 midnight, 3 am, and 5 am. Workdays count was 7:30 am and 12 noon also. It was 12 midnight and that meant I had to stop everything and stand in front of this cubicle. This gave me a needed break from writing these letters, but I wanted to be finished tonight. As I stood in position, I rubbed my aching hands. Usually midnight count didn't take long to clear.

    "Adam Stone, 21530911"

    Once "count" cleared, I went right back to my letters. This was only one of the ways to get money smart while I was locked up.

    I've always been a business man. You see, when I was 15, I worked at this corner store where I use to steal cigarettes, cigars and beer then sell it in the hood. This older cat saw how I hustled and fronted me 100 dime bags. This was a 70/30 split in his favor of course. The bags were big, so I broke them down and made 130 more bags. I paid the man and gave him my profit, so he could get me my own weed to start in business. He took my money and didn't come back for months. When I saw him again, he just gave me a sob story but no money or weed. Now remember I'm 15. More time went by when I ran into this same nigga at my aunt's house. He was laying on her couch, smoking and drinking with my family. He showed me 10 pounds, like he was bragging or something, but he still wouldn't give me what I paid for. Now, I don't drink or use anything, never have, never will, but I sat and watched him get tore up. I watched him for a couple of hours. He eventually fell asleep. Then I took the bag with the 10 pounds and just walked off. I set up shop in this dusty abandoned trailer with a green strip, way back in the cut. I had my partner, empty and clean it out enough so I could work from there and we started selling to everybody in Reese. Then my older brother Jacob and two of his friends started selling crack. I saw how much money they were getting, and I brought a half ounce from them. That was the beginning of CRE, "Cash Rules Everything". I'm not a fighter but I did have my partner find that old man. They roughed him up a little, only to show him that he was out of business.

    But unlike the streets, prison has its limitations, so I only have 3 ways to get my own money here. First, working a prison job making $2 or $3 a day. I only do that to pass time. I love working the kitchen. I wash dishes better than anyone here. I don't understand how people don't care about how clean their plates are. I can't eat from a nasty plate. You see, I don't mind working especially if it's keeping my shit sanitary. Second, running my store, in which I get weekly drops to stock up. Now this is the most complicated way I make money. Right now, I have about 7 runners that drop bags off for me here. You see, I don't mind working. I sell contraband; especially cell phones. For a $60 cell phone on the street, I can sell in here for $800. I don't only sell unmarked phones but phone cards and any other phone features. Then there is spice, that synthetic weed. Niggas going crazy for that shit in here but it's making them crazy too. I don't give a fuck. If you stupid enough to smoke that shit, your brain is dead already. We were bringing good money in until my man Chosen got caught for being sloppy dropping a bag off in a porta potty in the yard. They caught him with 4 phones, spice, cigarettes amongst other things.I lost a good $3000. And now he is facing Federal time for being messy. Eva wants to do that on her own which I think is a bad idea. I was considering asking my brother Prophet to help her, but I can't trust him. He will snake his own child.

    Last writing these letters brings a couple of dollars to get me by. I created a payment system and that's why my email account is essential; Spiderman. These letters are the easiest. Although I'm locked up, it's very expensive in here. Toothpaste is close to $5. I have four kids, 4 baby mamas and a wife. Eva has two kids of her own. So, I gotta do what I gottado, even if that means using a couple of people.

    Dear Octavia,

    I normally don't write to people I don't know but I was so moved by you in Prison Friends Magazine, that I just had to write. Since I read your letter, I can't stop thinking about you. My name is Pent. I've been locked up for about 13 years. My mother died 7 years ago and everyone else has fallen off the map. I pretty much keep to myself but prison is a horrible place Hun. I don't wish it on my worst enemy. I am in here because I became involved with the wrong people. I didn't do what I was convicted of but I ain't no snitch either, so I am just going to finish this bid and start over. I am working with a lot of programs in the prison and I hope to get some time off my 15-year sentence. I am a different man than I once was. I know how important it is to be mindful of the company we keep. I want to get out and help people to stay out of the system. I want to speak to the youth. I hold no anger or resentment for anyone. I needed to come here to become a great man.

    "You,

    Like my favorite song

    stays stuck in my head."

    I really hope you find time to write me back. I have used my last stamp and envelope to write you so I enclosed information where you can put money on my books. This is so I can write you again. $20 is more than enough. If you can't write me back or send money I truly understand but I really feel a special connection to you. God Bless you for everything.

    Pent

    I discovered if I mentioned God in my letters they would give. My eye site had become so bad that I needed a new bible with bigger words. Sometimes I would quote scriptures because they seem to like that, but I don't believe the bible. Eva sent me one when we first got together. How can she believe in a religion sold to us by the slave owners? And what kind of God let's people die, especially my mom? I believe in God but not the one they pushing on us. If these fairytales comfort these women, fine but, I don't respect any woman that believes in a Jesus in the clouds. I only had Denise and Sidney left to write tonight. Last month I grossed about $200 writing these letters. The first letter is standard but as weeks go by I personalize somethings and that can be very time consuming. I don't always ask them to send money to me because that would be obvious. As time goes by, I add points like, I really care about you, you make this bid so much easier, I want to see you and so on and so forth. When I drop the "I love you" I got you.All these ladies must understand, I love them all but unfortunately, I am not in-love with any of them. I hate Eva is caught up in this. She has two kids and she is a good girl. I love her, I'm just not in-love with her. I hated I got married in prison, but I had to make this investment. 

    Abuse is the New Suicide
    “Disguised as God” - Visitation

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    Friday, 15 November 2019
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