Dear son, I hope that when these few lines reach you, they find you in the best of health and spirit. As for myself, I’m doing as good as I could be under my wretched circumstances. I’m going to start by letting you know that the only reason you haven’t heard from me in so long is that after I got locked up, your mother and I separated.
Well, the last thing I remember telling you about was my thorough bred bitch Trina, how she put her life on the line to protect mine from that bitch ass nigga that was intent on stabbing me in the back. You would think that once a bitch shows such unconditional love and bravery in the face of danger, she would be rewarded for her efforts. I wasn’t with none of that shit. I don’t even think I thanked the bitch.
This damn letter ended up being far longer than I would have liked,
but I had to give you the complete picture of not only what you have
to look forward to when you get caught breaking the law but also
the basic rules that may help you survive if you stay in the big house.
I really need you to understand that between the inmates and the
guards, jail is literally hell and the last place in this world you ever
want to be. It’s a very dark and dreadful place. Love does not dwell
here. In fact, this place perverts and destroys all but the purest kind
of love.
Time is infinitely more valuable than money because one could
always make more money, but once your time runs out, you’re dead.
Time teaches everything to those immortal, but since you are not
and you will surely die someday, you must live each one as if it’s your
last. You cannot spend a moment dwelling on past losses, heartaches,
and bad luck. You must learn from them, then leave them in the
past. You only get one life, and life is nothing but the measurement
of time. When you waste one, you bring destruction to the other.
Bitch is another of one those words that street hustlers have rede-
fined. Depending on the tone and conditions it’s being used under
and the words that precede it, bitch means different things to differ-
ent people. The fact that I use this word so discriminately may give
you the wrong impression that I have little to no respect for women.
The opposite is actually the case. I extol, revere, admire, and love the
hell out of women, especially the beautiful black ones.
Getting out of jail is unlike any feeling in the world. One could win
billions of dollars in the lottery, and it will pale in comparison to the
euphoric feeling one experiences when they regain their freedom.
Now that I think about it, that shit could only be equated to a person
knowing that they have twenty-four hours to live then they find out
that they were misdiagnosed and they are going to live for a very long
time. In other words, getting out of jail is the same as being given a
new lease on life. What could possibly feel greater than that?
“Talking about what you and a woman did together in private is
unacceptable. This time you got a girl beat up. Next time, you could
destroy one’s reputation. Don’t make it be a next time. That’s bitch
nigga shit, and I know I’m not raising no bitch ass nigga, right?” “No,
ma’am.” “All right then, now, Wanda, are you pregnant for Martin?”
“No.” “So what was that I overheard about abortion?” “Oh, he was
telling me to have an abortion for the baby I’m having for E.”
I, on the other hand, was having the time of my life in college. That
college experience is such a spectacular one that I recommend every
young man that’s looking to make something out of his future, have
tons of fun, fuck more bitches than he can handle, and make new
friends that are going places in the world to go college.
bling and packing their shits. I gave them their money and the sched-
ule for the buses and trains and told them that they would have to
decide who would leave by train, who would go by bus, who would
leave now, and who would go later tonight. I recommended that two
leave within the next couple of hours by train and two by bus, then
two later on tonight, and none should appear to be together during
their trip.
By the time I dropped them off a block away from Penn Station on
Thirty-Third Street, everybody understood their positions and how
to play them. E and I jumped on the highway to Newport News,
Virginia, a.k.a. Bad News, and got to E’s uncle’s crib with an hour
and a half to spare before the train from New York came in with G
and Vicki. E’s uncle knew my pops and had a few stories about the
legend he shared with me as we talked and got to know each other.