“I was in college when I started. I was going to school and working at a print shop. There was a drug point outside of my apartment building. I played basketball with the guy who ran it. He told me: ‘I’ve got one night open, and I’m going to offer it to you first.’ My shift was on Friday, 6pm to 6am. We sold weed, heroin, and crack. I made $500 that first night. I was nineteen. My girlfriend wasn’t sure about it, but I bought her some high heels with the money, and I promised her I’d keep working at the print shop. After a few weeks, Saturday and Sunday opened up too. Then Wednesday. I started making 2k, then 3k, then 5k per week. I went to register for my next semester of college, but the line was too long, so I never went back. I didn’t have to wake up at 7 AM anymore. I could wake up whenever I wanted. The money made me feel powerful. People would stop talking when I began to talk. I could give an old lady $100 to pay her light bill. I could give kids $50 to go to the movies. The guy who first offered me the job had a house, and kids, and cars, and a motorcycle. He’d been working for twenty years with no problem. I thought: ‘Why can’t that be me?’”
(Federal Correctional Complex: Hazelton, West Virginia)
