Dear Summer
“He had sworn to God that if he got out of this one, he would get a job and spend more time with his son and his baby’s mother. He thought about all those nights when he ran the street and never spent time with Sheniqua, or his little boy. He looked up at the aluminum bed and read the words etched in the bed—This is Hell. He had to agree with whoever authored the phrase. This was hell, and he didn’t want to be here. He remembered the white arresting officer saying, if ever he wanted to help hims...elf, give him a call. He knew the man meant snitching. He couldn’t do that, nor would he ever do it. It went against his morals, unless somebody was a child molester or cold-blooded killer, but even then his life or his kid’s safety would have to be in direct danger. He hated being in jail and it seemed as if ever since he was 16 years old he’d gone to jail at least once a year for one thing or another. But now he was twenty-three, and he had gotten caught with nine ounces of crack cocaine.MoreLess
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