Opioid Madness

My friend Rich, who lives in the cell next to mine, gets released in 2 weeks after serving 5 years for a gun charge. You would think nothing could damper his spirits so close to the doors of freedom. But after hanging up the phone the night before last, he realized how delicate the reality of life actually is hearing that his younger brother died from an overdose.

Yesterday, speaking with my 17 year old daughter, I was informed that one of her friends older brother also died from an overdose.

The opioid epidemic is still ravaging our nation.

There’s been more than 100,000 drug-overdose deaths in the 12 month period ending in April, according to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention.

More than 100,000 dead in 12 months.

Thankfully the sources that created the opioid epidemic crisis are being held accountable by paying a settlement of a combined total of roughly $25 billion dollars. Johnson & Johnson, and the drug distributors Amerisource Bergin, Cardinal Health inc, and McKesson corp. all agreed to this settlement, but it wasn’t an admission of liability or wrong doing.

$25 billion.

More than 100,000 drug overdose deaths in 12 months.

Zero criminal prosecutions.

No surprise at that.

The Sackler family, who owns Purdue Pharma, are also paying a settlement of $6 billion after being accused of fueling the opioid epidemic.

Yet again so far…

Zero criminal prosecutions.

Flaco, another friend of mine here at Canaan, got charged with distributing a kilo or more of opioid’s. He’s 28 years old and got a 30 year criminal sentence. He accepted responsibility for his wrong doing. He wasn’t accused of being the source of this epidemic, and no one overdosed from his drugs, but you would think he’s being held responsible for those over 100,000 deaths in the last 12 months attributed to the Pharmaceutical companies.

Maybe he is.

He’s not alone since there are plenty of people here at USP Canaan with super long sentences for minimal amounts of opioids. If they had a few billion dollars, could they have brought their way out of the criminal prosecution by paying a settlement?

Seems like it.

But for now, these low level dealers take all the blame, pawns in a lost drug war where black and Hispanic individuals are the first to be sacrificed.

Please Sign My Petition

My name is Eddie Wright. In 2004, I was charged with conspiracy with intent to distribute 50 grams of crack cocaine, under the Anti-Drug Abuse Act of 1986, which created a disparity between crack and powder cocaine, commonly referred to as the 100 to 1 crack law.

Under this law, a person charged with having 5,000 grams of powder cocaine would face a 10 year mandatory minimum; a person, such as myself, charged with possession of a mere 50 grams of crack cocaine, faces the same obligatory mandatory minimum sentence of 10 years.

No class of drug is as racially bias as crack in terms of numbers of offenses. In 2009, 79 percent of 5,669 sentence crack offenders were black, versus 10 percent who were white and 10 percent who were Hispanic. Of the 6,020 powder cocaine cases: 17 percent were white offenders, 28 percent were black and 53 percent were Hispanic.

One would think this crack disparity law was drafted by Jim Crow himself.

In 2010, Congress attempted to eliminate the crack and powder cocaine disparity, but instead compromised with the 18 to 1 disparity law in the Fair Sentencing Act. The name in itself acknowledges that the crack disparity law is unfair, but still with 18 to 1 it’s just less unfair.

I was given what’s called an 851 enhancement, due to having a previous drug conviction for which I was sentenced to 90 days when I was 18 years old. The 851 enhancement, predicated on a 90 day sentence when I was 18 years old, doubled my mandatory minimum crack law from 10 to 20 years. Ultimately I was sentenced to 45 years for a non-violent federal drug offence.

In Norway, in 20011 Anders Behring Breivik, killed 77 people with gun and bomb attacks. He killed 8 people with the bomb. The other 69 human beings were mostly teenagers that he shot and killed at a summer camp.

He was sentenced to the maximum of 21 years.

This contrast stood out to me, not only because of his maximum sentence of 21 years, but because he was recently denied parole. I have over 17 years in prison for a non-violent federal drug offence in America and don’t even have an opportunity for parole, it no longer exist.

Still, I accepted full responsibility for my actions. I was immature, narrow-minded and participated in a destructive criminal lifestyle. I recognize the negative affect my choices had on my community, but more importantly the devastating impact my actions had on my family. When I got sentenced to 45 years, my mother, sister, wife, children and the rest of my family got sentenced also. Their unconditional love and support inspired me to change the way I choose to live my life.

The first step on this journey was to remain drug and alcohol free. I’ve been sober for over 16 years. Next, came my most important step which was establishing a personal relationship with my higher power. With God, I had the strength and fortitude to right my wrongs and make amends for the hurt and pain I’ve caused myself, my family and society.

In 2008, upon arriving at USP Canaan, I began to teach physical fitness, wellness and Yoga classes. This is at one of the most violent penitentiaries in America and I’ve taught these classes every morning of the week for over a decade. I’m the head of my spiritual group, where I speak at our weekly meetings in the chapel. I’ve earned over 70 certificates for my participation in programs. I’m currently in the final phase of the Challenge program which is a modified therapeutic community that addresses drug abuse and criminal thinking errors. I’m already a mentor in this program, a position a selected few are normally given after you graduate.

I’ve written over 12 books, two of which have been published, making me an Amazon best selling author. I write spiritual self-help books as a way to help others find healing, peace, and happiness. I’m the first father to publish a memoir of how I came to accept and love my son unconditionally as a member of the LGBTQ community. This has been one of my proudest achievements, not only because this helped heal our relationship, but I’ve been contacted by others who were helped through the sharing of our experience.

I teach classes on creative writing, public speaking and business economics. My focus has been to do all I can to to better myself, while helping others better themselves. This has given my life meaning and purpose.

My plans upon my release is to continue to give back to my community and be a productive member of society, by visiting schools, youth at risk programs, and group homes with the goal of deterring others from making the same mistakes I did.

Currently, there is a bipartisan bill waiting on a vote in the Senate called The Equal Act,(Eliminating a Quantifiably Unjust Application of the Law) that would do what it’s name states, eliminate the disparity between crack and powder cocaine.

I believe in speaking things into existence and acting as if it’s already done. So when this Equal Act passes into law, I will be filing a motion for a sentence reduction to time served.

Due to Covid restrictions the prison has been on modified lock down. I haven’t been able to give my children a hug or my mother a kiss for over two years. I feel that the more than 17 years of incarceration I’ve served is an excessive amount of time for a non-violent drug offense.

I’m a changed and fully rehabilitated man, who is humbling asking for you to please sign this petition to reduce my sentence to time served.

Click here to sign.

Thank you

Change.org

I’m sorry

I know I’ve been abusing our relationship.

I’ll admit, there’s no valid excuse.

I haven’t been giving you my time to show the type of love and freedom you’ve given me.

You’re always available, patiently waiting for me to engage you openly, honestly and unconditionally.

What’s hardest to accept is that I’m fully to blame. That’s a fact!

But we both know I don’t have a history of maintaining healthy relationships and if anyone understands the reasons for my dysfunctional ways, it’s you.

When we’re together we’ve laughed and cried as we travel through space and time. I’ve expressed the overwhelming shame of not being the father my children deserve, my failures as a selfish son who’s mother truly sacrificed her life for, my truancy as a husband and let’s not forget my derelict type of behavior on society.

Without judgment or condemnation, you love me for who I’ve been and who I am now, unconditionally.

You’ve helped me come to terms with life by healing the hurt and pain I’ve caused my family, society and most importantly myself.

At my lowest point, you gave me meaning and purpose when I thought I had none.

With you, I’ve been able to reach out and help others heal their hurt and pain with the difficulties in their lives.

Helping them is two fold because it also helps me.

But still I stray away for months at a time and when I show back up, your here.

No criticism.

No blame.

No accusations.

You’re just ready to continue from where we left off. I guess you’re fully aware I’m beat myself up for my inattentive behavior, especially since I know I’m at my best when I’m with you.

Happy.

Calm.

Peaceful.

Content.

So it perplexes me when I ignore our relationship.

When I stay away it may appear like I’m taking you for granted.

I’m not.

You have been the key to my freedom for over 17 years behind these penitentiary walls.

Knowing that you’ll always be here keeps me grounded, sane and gives me the strength and fortitude to carry on with a positive, hopeful attitude.

But you already know all of these thoughts and feelings I’m expressing because that’s how close our relationship is.

Still that’s no excuse for my neglect.

This letter is to acknowledge the appreciation and gratitude I have for our relationship.

I will strive to do better by committing more of myself to you and to us…

This gift of writing.

Parenting From Prison

It’s hard being a parent from prison. Especially realizing the devastating effect the unforeseen consequences my actions had on my children, particularly Nia, who was only 45 days old when I got arrested over 17 years ago.

While my other children experienced “Dad” being home for birthday parties, Disney trips, soccer games and more, Nia was robbed of all those monumental memories.

I’ve worked hard to insure she knows her value as my daughter and as a strong black/Hispanic woman.
I’ve tossed and turned at night, fearing the “Daddy” issues she’d suffer because of my absence.

When we talk, she listens to me and I listen to her.

I always knew my older daughter Alexa would head to college because she was top notch in school and I was super proud when she recently graduated.

But Nia….reminding me so much of myself, I was content with negotiating her promise to graduate high school.
So when Nia told me that she finished writing her college application letter, I was overwhelmed with a mixture of emotions. When she told me she received her first college acceptance letter, I’ll admit I was a little surprised.

But I shouldn’t have been.

“Can you please send me this letter you wrote?” I asked Nia, after congratulating her for this achievement.

Dear reader, while sitting at the computer at a level 7 maximum penitentiary, reading Nia’s college letter, I found myself loosing the battle from the flood gate of tears and I cared not who saw.

I would like to share Princess Nia’s college application letter with you.

FROM MY DAUGHTER

Recent estimates show that 2.7 million US children have a parent who is incarcerated. Being a child of that statistic was and still is difficult, yet it doesn’t define me. My father was incarcerated before I was born. People say you can’t miss what you never had, but I never agreed with that. Even though I never spent a “typical day” with my dad I have spoken with him every day on the phone.
I grew up with my mother, grandmother, and older sister. They always told me to not discuss my father’s situation. I remember my mother always telling me, ¨nobody needs to know where your dad really is¨. What I was told about him was that he was a great father. He took in two of my older half-sisters and treated them as his own. To me he is a great father, but in a different way than they experienced. He always listens to me, and gives me fatherly advice. I understand him and he understands me. We have an unbreakable bond. As a little girl holding a big secret like that was hard for me. To see my friend’s fathers pick them up after school attending father-daughter dances and cheering their kids on at the winter concerts year after year. I always had this emptiness in my heart when I would see that because that was something I never experienced. Something I missed out on. Something I can never get back in life. This made me grow up faster. I learned how to deal with my emotions and become resilient no matter how difficult and challenging life is.
During my high school years, it became harder to face all the obstacles in my life not only with my father but being a Hispanic and black teenage girl in a predominantly Caucasian school. In 9th and 10th grade, I started making some decisions that could’ve turned me down a bad path. I started to become friends with people who did not care about my best interests. I was angry at the world I started not to think about the consequences of my actions. I was getting into fights in school, sneaking out and failing my classes, my family was always trying to put me in behavioral programs signing me up for outreach programs and therapy as if I couldn’t control my behavior fearing that I would end up like my dad, what they did not know is that I was acting out because I lost sight to everything that was important to me I guess u can say I was struggling with depression. After all those programs and sessions its started to become tedious and I started to regret making all those bad decisions I had made. As 11 grade started to creep up on me I knew that I needed to rethink how I want my future to unfold, how important it is try hard in school and get good grades because my future depends on it. I’m glad both me and my dad were able to bounce back from all situations no matter how big or how small. He achieved so much great things all while behind bars he is an author, published 2 books which were amazon’s best-selling, and was a mentor to other people who have yet to find their best selves in life. Seeing my father go over all those obstacles made me rethink my obstacles in life, there is always time to turn your life around no matter how difficult things can be, There is always a light at the end of the tunnel. You just have to figure out how to get there. Being accepted into college would really help me discover myself and who I wanna be in this world I want to serve a purpose in my life by helping people as much as I can just like my father is doing while he serves his sentence, and I hope I can do that with the career pursue, I want to make my father proud show him that just because he wasn’t there for me I turned out okay and that I’m doing everything I can to succeed in life the right way. I want to show my family that I am in fact my father’s daughter just like him, I did make mistakes during my 9th and 10th grade but those mistakes do not define me as the person i am today.

This or That

Was there ever really a time when peace and harmony existed?

The question and answer is two fold.

Yes and no.

The polarities of life exist in order for us to have experiences. There’s no hot without cold, pain without pleasure, peace without war, chaos without harmony and gangster without the guru. LOL.

How would we know one from the other without the other existing?

There are often times when life doesn’t make sense with logic and reason.

It seems like God just took a vacation from caring about what goes on in the world.

But that’s when my faith and belief of my higher power comes into play, helping to keep me spiritually strong and grounded.

I’m currently on my 15th year in this environment of prison, but I’m not “of” this prison environment.

Yes, it brings circumstances and situations that effect me, but it’s my response that dictates my experience.

The power of my choice to choose to look at the cup of life as half-full is one of my simple secrets of success.

You see right there….I just came up with another book to write. “Gangster Turned Guru’s simple secrets of success.

But let me stay on track. Regardless of what your going through or have and will go through, there’s meaning and purpose to the experience.

We have the power to give the experience meaning and purpose by the choices we choose (or don’t choose) to make.

How many times have you had to go through something that made absolutely no sense in the moment, but now look back at it clearly seeing the meaning and purpose it played in making you who you are today?

That’s Life in action and Life in action is God.

That’s all for now, nothing too profound.

Just wanted to check in with my readers. Much love and life!!

GTG!!

The best Christmas in 14 years!

Dec 30, 2018 at 11:36 AM

It was way too long. 

Over a decade since I had last seen my son. 

The fault was mainly mine. 

In his later, teenage wild out years, I couldn’t and didn’t want to risk my out spoken, take no shit, quick to throw a snap back to anyone that dares to make a disrespectful under the breath comment about his lifestyle. 

He proudly defends his crown of me labeling him the gayest man on earth. 

So for him to come to visit me at Canaan, one of the most violent penitentiaries in America, wasn’t a good idea for a number of different reasons at that time. 

Our weekly phone calls would have to do. 

Christmas 2018 happened to fall on a Tuesday this year, when I get my visits here at MDC Brooklyn where I’m still waiting to hear the outcome of my appeal. 

My son, along with his sister Nia and my mother were coming to visit. 

In our recent phone conversations, I asked him not to get too emotional with the tears. 

Drew of course, sticking to his true form, denied my request. 
“I’m just a very emotional person and I won’t be able to hold it back,” said with a flamboyancy I had no choice but to accept. 

Walking through the visiting room door, a surprised lump caught my throat as I laid eyes on my son, looking like he stepped off the cover of the GQ magazine. 

While he kept his cool, it was I that was struggling to hold back the flood of tears as we embraced and I gave my son a kiss. 

The time flew by and after another strong hug and kiss goodbye, I gave the same to my mother and daughter, then doubled back for a third hug and kiss, thanking Drew for this incredible gift to end the year with.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Father/Daughter Talks… Priceless!

Dec 8, 2018 at 12:37 PM

The wailing moan of grief and distress from the phone receiver gouged at my heart. 
Weeping tears, sobs of sorrow while gasping from breath between the utterances of half spoken words, making no sense at all, caused my mind to kick into over-drive of worse case scenarios. 

“Is my mother all right?” I asked. 
No cognitive answer, more groaning and sniffles. 

“Sweetheart, calm down, take a deep breath and tell dad what’s wrong.” 
Between another fit of whimpering she managed to utter, ” I just don’t know what to do!!” 
Followed by a renewed lamentation of bawling tears. 

“Do about what, Honey?” I asked, struggling to keep a comforting tone, attempting to suppress the dramatic thoughts racing through my mind. “Please!” I begged to my 14 year old daughter Nia, “Just tell me what’s happen,” triggering another ten minute bout of groaning moans of sobs, giving way to an additional round of tears and sniffles. 

Finally she took the deep controlled breath and announced the cause of this dismal condition, “Blake moved out of state and I didn’t get to say good bye!” she cried and the water works continued. 

Blake the Snake. 
That’s what I called my daughters first little boyfriend. 

He reminded me too much of myself and that isn’t always a good thing. 
Now just like me when I kept getting in trouble in school, he got sent to another state until he got his act together.  
I can’t lie…there was that side of me that was ecstatic!! 

Blake’s little ass was finally outta here!! 
But I kept that to myself, knowing what we adults call puppy love is as real as it gets to my daughter and her broken heart. 

So in comforting daddy mode, I assured her it will be all right, allowed her to cry all she wanted, related to her hurt and pain and attempted to sooth her sadness. 
I’m glad she knows that she can always cry to me and that no matter what she will forever be daddies little girl.

#gangsterturnedgurupresents

#eddiekwright

Gangster Turned Guru Presents: Chapter Excerpt: Killer Canaan

“…I laid back down in my bed, put on my headphones to catch the local radio station news, when I heard “United States Penitentiary Canaan, is locked down due to the murder of office Erick Wilkins, by an inmate in the unit he was assigned to.”

“Oh shit P-Lee!” I shouted, shooting up out of the bed and snapping on the light.

“Yo! What’s up man?” raising from under the blanket, eyes squinting from the sudden brightness.

“We’re locked down because they killed a CO last night.”

“Get the fuck out of here, Eddie.”

“I just heard them announce it on the local news,” I said, walking over to the cell door to look out on the unit, “And the TV’s are turned off.”

“Oh shit, they’re about to put us through it.  They killed a fucking officer,” P-Lee said, shaking his head while climbing down the latter.

“I’m glad my mother brought the girls to visit last weekend because we’re about to be on lockdown for months,” I said, walking over to my locker and pulling out my bag of commissary to do a quick inventory assessment, preparing to ration out my personal food for the duration of this ordeal.

An hour later, the main unit door slammed shut and I heard the jiggling keys of the officers.  I walked over to the door and saw them loading cardboard boxes on the pushcart.

“Food trays are up P-Lee.”

“Good, I’m starving.”

Two officers were feeding the unit, coming to each cell door, unlocking the food slots and shoving in the two brown cardboard meal boxes, along with two cartons of milk.  This type of meal wouldn’t sustain a kindergartner, let along two grown men.  Watching the officers as they approached, I saw the anguish on their strained screw faces.

Rumor on prisoner.com said that allegedly, four officers that work on the compound were ordered by the shift lieutenant, to shake down an inmate named Jessie’s cell, which is a standard procedure normally done by the one officer working the unit.  For some reason, the shift Lieutenant, nicknamed “Big Show,” because he looked just like the professional wrestler, tall, overweight, bald with a thick mustache, directed the four compound officers to rip this particular cell apart, and they did.”

Gangster Turned Guru Presents: Chapter Excerpt: Love Sick

“Unable to disguise the impact of Maria’s news when I walked in the unit, my friend Twin, wasn’t far behind me after I went into my cell to sulk.  Twin’s called my bigger little brother, who’s been my work out partner since he arrived at Canaan from Lewisburg about a week after I did.  At 5’9, he was tipping the scale at 260 pounds back then, but after a few months of working out hard together six days a week, he dropped down to 215 pounds.  Although he still struggled with a sweet tooth, that he’s had since childhood, like the blue cookie monster from Sesame Street, he’s one of the few people that survive my militant boot camp style encouragement to make it through some very tough workouts.

Twin grew up in Pittsburg P.A., and in 2002, got sentenced to 20 years for possession of a few dime bags of crack cocaine.  Before going to the gym each morning, we spend about 10-15 minutes having positive spiritual talks to start the day off with the right attitude.

When I began writing, Twin was the first one I would read my chapters out loud to and I trusted him with my first rounds of edits, which helped him gain a clearer insight by carefully reading what I wrote.  We always look out for each other’s best interest in all situations.

“YO!” he said, walking in without knocking, finding me already under my covers with the blanket pulled over my head.

“Yooooooooo!” I moaned.

“What’s wrong?  How was the visit?” he asked.

Peeking out from under the covers, teary-eyed, letting out a deep sigh, I said, “Maria has left the building! She’s had enough.”

“Enough of what?”

“Of this, doing the bid,” I explained.

“She’s leaving you?”

“She’s left. It’s done. Over. I could see it in her eyes.”

Shaking his head, pulling up the chair and sitting down, both of us quiet for a couple of seconds, he then asked, “What about your daughters?”

“My mother will bring them,” I answered slowly climbing out from under the covers still fully dressed.

“Eddie, you already know what it is.  It’s not ‘if’ they’re going to leave, it’s ‘when’ they’re going to leave.”  Twin repeated his mantra, stemming from his own broken heart.

“Nah, I know. I’ve been here before. It’s part of doing time.”

I was hurt, mad, angry, not eating, hardly sleeping and foreboding locking in at night when all I could do was lie in bed with excruciating images of Maria in the arms of another man, agonizing my aching heart.  It was the first time I felt vulnerable to slipping back into my gangster ways.  There were moments I felt like exploding, but didn’t and maintained my self-control.

After a month immersed with these tormenting thoughts and images, I realized more than ever that I needed to continue to practice what I’ve been preaching by consciously staying in control of what I thought about.   Once I caught my self-thinking negatively or feeling sorry for myself, I’d find an activity to take my attention to something positive.  Normally it was working out, which I was doing three or four times a day for at least an hour and a half each period.  I was writing more and at night I always had two or three books on the table next to my bed to read myself to sleep.  I brought a book light so I could read without disturbing my celli, which helped me to quickly fall back to sleep.

I choose to be patient with myself, knowing from prior experiences that the hurt and pain of a broken heart would heal in time.  By continuing to be kind, friendly, helpful and honest, I attracted the same to my experience when I most needed it.”

Gangster Turned Guru Presents: Chapter Excerpt: “Esco”

I have no problem admitting that my gangster mentality stemmed from a false self-perception and lack of self-love to all the various gang members I’ve had as cellmates.  When I discuss how I’ve refused to entertain those negative thought patterns to Bloods, Crips, Gangster Disciples and Vice Lords that I’ve bunked with, most couldn’t imagine changing their lives being apart from their gang.

This was especially true for a 24-year-old Crip, from Long Island named Esco.  Short, stocky, half black and half Puerto Rican with an innocent looking baby face that has fooled plenty of people when put to the test.  He claimed to love the gang life.  He swore he knew it all, talking me to death with his gang mentality from which he perceived the world.

Every day at 3:30 p.m. as soon as the cell door locked for the count, Esco would sit up from the top bunk, where he’d spend most of the day and start to talk.

“Eddie, these guys always come to you for advice. What they can’t think on their own?”

“Actually, for a lot of us, thinking on our own is what we’re learning to do.”

“You’re learning to think on your own? Who don’t know how to do that?”

“You’d be surprised, Esco. When you don’t know who you really are, you live according to the authority of others.” I laughed thinking about my own past identify crisis. “You of all people should know that.”

“Why should I know?”

“Because you’re a Crip and have to follow whatever your OG says,” I answered.

He climbed down the latter at the end of the bed, ready to debate. “Everybody falls under the authority of somebody.  You follow the authority of these CO’s when they tell you to stand for the count,” he fired back.

“They don’t have to tell me to stand for count.”

“That’s because you’re already standing.”

“Exactly, under my own authority,” I said laying back on my bed with my hands behind my head, cradled by my pillow.

“Aren’t your followers under your authority?”

“My followers?”

“Yeah, Twin, Paradise, O, Tone, Javi and all those guys in and out of here all day asking you what to do, how to do it, and they listen because you think you’re smart from reading all those books.”

“It’s not that I think I’m smart, they trust me to give them positive advice.”

“Why don’t they ask me?” he wondered pulling his chair up along the side of my bed.

“Probably because we view things from a different perspective.”

“How’s that?”

“Esco, you’re still relatively young, trying to prove yourself in an attempt to figure out who you are.”

“Prove myself! I know how I give it up!! Ask about me! My name rings bells out in the streets!”

“I never heard of you!” I said shaking my head flashing a grin.

“That’s because you been locked up for so long! Call out on the streets and you’ll see. I bang! It’s what I do!”

“But what does it get you?”

“Respect!”

Squinting my eyebrows together I asked, “Banging gets you respect?  What are you banging for?” sitting up from my laid back position, giving him my full attention.

“For my set, my block! It’s what I do! I wasn’t a pretty boy, getting money type like you Eddie.  They call it gang banging because I bang!” he emphasized all hyped up, pounding his fist in his chest like a silverback gorilla.

“And all that banging is causing you those problems out in the streets.”

“What problems?  I’m good in my hood.”

“Esco, you sit here every night and day telling me your war stories against the Latin Kings and the Bloods.”

“Cause I give it up on those mother fuckers!”

“And they give it up on you!  The Bloods ran up on your girlfriend’s car and shot you in the leg.  The Latin Kings, shot up your baby mother’s house, thinking you were there.  Your son could have got hit.”

“That’s because they’re scared of me and know I’m a threat!”  He defended, raising up out of his chair, walking over to the cell door to stare at himself in the six magnetic mirrors I have on the door.

“Who’s scared of you?”

“They’re all scared of me!” he said, looking back over his shoulder, nodding his head.

“They’re not scared of you, simply because they’re banging on you and although you’ve gotten away, they killed your cousin Russ on his 21st birthday.”

“That wasn’t my fault!”

“I’m not saying it’s your fault, Esco. It’s a consequence of the lifestyle you’re choosing to live.”

“But he wasn’t banging, he was just with me all the time.”

“And somebody banged on him, for what?? Your set? The block?  Does it mean that much?”  I asked, leaving him silent for a few seconds, which is a difficult thing to do.

#gangsterturnedgurupresents

#eddiekwright

#respect