I used to think of myself as different than the rest of the hopeless dopes in gp. I’m not like that, I’m not a criminal, I got a college degree! my insides screamed.
That was all technically true but no matter; the differences between us melted away. It’s amazing how we can adapt to near everything.
While all these inmates came from a fucked up situation, I was, y’know, a good person. Although I didn’t tell them that.
Whenever I tell some I graduated from uofm, they always ask what my major was, and I’m slightly deterred.
“English…” I reply, sheepishly. I might as well be saying, Yeahhhh, I liked to get high a lot.
We chop it up. Im explaining my case, &my unusual background for our present circumstances. Then the guy I’m telling this to starts musing about his murdered baby-momma who rose too high up in the crack game too quickly for some people.
This is his third meth lab. He’s white (im not caring, just noting), a year older than me.
In this place theres a huge cohort of us– us lost, troubled, fucked up generation.