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I denied that shit at the top of my lungs but the cops cracked me in the head anyway and it was on. I fought so hard it took six of them to cuff me and drag me outta that house, but it was Mama who really hurt me. When they told her what I was being arrested fro she hit me with a look so cold that it was her eyes, and not those billy clubs, that finally put me down on the ground.

Man, I looked like public enemy number one in my bright orange jumpsuit. They ran my mug shot on the front page of the paper, side by side with Terrie and her little girl, and next to all that blond hair, and those blue eyes and ringlet curls, I looked bigger and blacker and meaner than ever.

Six months later my man Gilbert mounted my defense and we pled not guilty, but man, the trial was a farce. Stricly for show. The jury stayed out for forty-seven minutes, and that was forty-six minutes longer than they'd needed. How they say that shit on CSI? The DNA don't lie? Well they must have figured that ex-cons and drug dealers like me can't help but lie, and four days after my trial began I got convicted and sentenced to death by an all-white jury of my so-called peers.



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