So itís like this righí? I needs to score some serious cash to jazz up my ride and I hear about this seven-eleven down the road whatís doing good business and donít cash up till real late. I got this mate who knows a guy who can let me have a piece Ė no numbers no questions Ė for a couple of hundred, and I figure itís a good investment.
So there I am about midnight outside the store with a snub nose in my pocket, waiting for the place to empty. Iím all like jittery and stuff and as soon as this last couple comes out, I pull my hoody up and go into the place.
The guyís got sports bags on offer, so a grabs one a chucks it at him. The gunís in my hand and pointiní in his face, and I yell for him to open the register over and over until he does it.
I ainít never seen so much cash. Thereís got to be like nearly a grand in there and Iím thinkiní thatíll get me a new set of alloys and maybe that neon kit. I yell at him to fill the bag up, and the guy has to be retarded Ďcos I got to say it over and over to get him to move. Then I notice heís got this look in his eyes, like stubborn or somethiní and I know heís going to do somethiní stupid, so I starts yelliní, ďDonít even think about it man,Ē over and over.
Heís not listeniní and he reaches under the counter for somethiní. I mean it could be a gun or anything, so I pull the trigger. I canít believe the noise, or how blood there is all of a sudden. I grabs the bag and runs. Thereís alarms goiní off now so I duck down a few alleys and soon Iím far enough away that sirens are goiní past and Iím clear away. Wow what a rush, I canít stop grinniní that I pulled it off.
Anyway itís not that simple. Long story short, the gunís been used before and the cops trace the bullet back to the guy who sold it me, and he fingers me. So a coupla days later, thereís uniforms busting in my front door and cuffiní me and readiní me my rights and stuff.
Iíve already chucked the gun and bag, but they lift blood from my clothes and GSR from my hand, so in the end I got nothiní. My lawyer gets me to plead guilty and the judge sends me down for life.
So here I am weariní orange overalls lookiní to spend the next twenty years stampiní out license plates. Prisonís no easy ride, you got to stand up for yourself, so I turn up full of attitude and bustiní for a fight. After a week most people are giving me some space.
Anyway itís Sunday and Iím just chilliní when this old guy comes into my cell. Iím about to lay into him when he tells me not to be an idiot and shoves me down on my bunk. He says heís been watchiní me and reckons if I carry on like I am, I wonít live too long. So I asks him why he cares, aní he tells me that heís just doiní what God tells him and God tells him I need a break.
For the next hour he tells me about Jesus and what he gave up for me Ďcos he loves me. Now I donít get this much, my dad left before I knew him and my mum died when I was twelve. I havenít had anyone look out for me since so I figured everyone just took what they could get. To hear that someone cared about me and wanted to give me something just didnít hang right.
I didnít make no decisions that day, but I did calm down. This guy kept lookiní in on me every few days for the next few months, and eventually I did let him introduce me to this Jesus of his, and Iíve found a new way to live.
It doesnít change everything. The guy in the seven-eleven is still dead, I still see his head explode every time I shut my eyes and Iím still gonna live inside these walls for most of my life, but even if I have to wear orange, at least my hands arenít stained red any more.
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