I was going down. My soul, my body…my life. For what? You may be asking. Well, what I call a little difference of perception and most importantly, truth. When one, like I, knows one has not done anything wrong, and another, lets say, in this case, the criminal court system says that I, in fact, did and the jury believes that court system…well…your ass is grass. Like mine surely was. Running out of time. Clock winding down in a crucial way. Um!
I was one of the few on Indiana’s Death Row. Oh, that’s not something to be braggadocios about, just stating facts is all.
Someone, not me, had decided to be light skinned, bald, five-foot six with dark clothes on, walking (I don’t know to this day why they believed a person, even Black, would be stupid enough to just be be-bopping down the street, la-la-la-la-la…after viciously killing someone…but damned if I will ever understand white people and their mentality. Jury of my peers my ass! The jury was lily, pure as the driven snow. Shit) and decided to kill someone that night.
And guess what? That’s right, yours truly, minding my own business, after a long days work meandering on our fair city’s downtown street, Capitol Avenue…and you can just guess the rest. That’s why I’m here. Wrong place at the wrong fucking time. But for the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department, I was at the right place at the right time and now we got that ass!
How lucky can a Black man be? Couldn’t hit the lottery for shit all my forty-two years of Black ass life! But looky here! Bingo-Bango-Bongo! Can’t say that I hadn’t prayed many of times to hit the lottery. And it is funny how one’s prayers are answered. God telling me in a horrible way that I should have been more succinct with those little specificities.
But damn, what a way to learn...
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