His name is Robert Bud...

He told me to just call him Bud. This has got to be the nerdiest dude I've ever seen in my life. He's bi-racial, Asian and white with blotchy skin. His hair is in desperate need of a wash. We were in the holding cell waiting to get processed in. I sat with my back to the wall as he paced the floor nervously. He kept asking me if I thought he would need a shank. How the hell should I know? All this shank talk was making me antsy. Finally they called my name and processed me in. The Guard asked me if I felt suicidal, I told him no, but in the back of my mind I imagined Bud slitting his wrist right in front of him.


The plane ride to California depressed the shit out of me...

I realized then that it would be ten years before I flew in a plane again. Shit, it would be ten years before I do anything I truly enjoy again.
After the plane landed we were hustled onto a fortified bus. With chains attached to my wrist, waist and ankles I couldn't help but think about the mini-series, "ROOTS." There were so many black and brown faces on the bus I was embarrassed for my race. What the fuck are we doing to ourselves black people? As we pulled up to Lompoc Federal Penitentiary the sun made a retreat behind a cluster of clouds. As I looked at my new home I noticed that a hush had come upon the bus. The building intimidates you immediately. So huge and cold I swear that if it had a drawbridge attache to it you would expect Skeletor to greet you.
I am scared, but I have promised myself that I will not let it show.