The marshals handcuffed me and put me in leg irons. They pointed Mossberg twelve-gauge riot-guns at my face and put me on a bus with bars on the windows and an armed escort riding shotgun. It reminded me of some Mad Max type shit. The convicts on the bus called it "diesel therapy." I could feel the eyes on me as I made my way down the aisle. I tried to look tough as I noticed there weren't many white people and no one struck me as a suburbanite. In fact, I saw the only other white guy on the bus getting exposed. "What Cheap Nike Air Max 95 the fuck you looking at cracker?" Yelled a black prisoner. "Nothing." Replied the white dude meekly with his head down. What a chump I thought as I sunk deeper into my seat and wished I was invisible.
When I hit the compound this old-timer, White Shoes, pulled me aside. I was wary at first, because you never know what a fucker wants in here. But I learned that he only wanted to help. He could tell I was green and I guess he saw convict material, because he took me under his wing. He wanted to see my paperwork to make sure I wasn't no rat motherfucker. When I checked out he schooled me on prison etiquette. "Don't gamble, cheap nike air max don't do drugs, and don't fuck with punks," he said. "When you talk to people look them in the eye and always be polite, because Jordan Retro 11 For Sale you never know when someone will lose it. Be cool and if you have a problem, come and get me."