Instalment Forty Nine

I turned 21 in prison, doin’ life without parole.

Outta the gate was 17 lookin at the chair, too young to vote but Judge thought old enough to die. The Governor agreed wit him, pretty rough seeing how we aint never met. Some bleedin hearts took up my cause, said I wa slow and couldn’t be killed. I don’t know bout being slow but if being quick means talking like them fruits well I’d rather fry. Still they had their way so on the day I became a man I was starring at life, straight up, no pardons or nothing.

On ma birthday ma pop paid his only visit. Ma’d not spoken me since I’d got arrested. Pop’s not much for words but before I got to that visiting room he musta poured sugar in that guards ear cause sitting on the table was two beers. Not cold or nothing, given the drive pop just made but sweet Jeaysus it was the finest brew I have gone tasted.

“I never liked you,” he mumbled. “My daddy was in here the day I turned 21, I’m glad I gave you his name, you’re as much a Culprit as he ever was.”