Great Escape
How I Escaped From Prison
There was no chisel involved, no rope of bedsheets. But with the help of a willing accomplice, I found a way out.
A few years ago, I escaped from prison. I’d been fantasizing about it for years, but the precipitating factor was a fight between two fellow inmates that left one in the hospital and the other in solitary confinement.
It was 8 p.m. Slim, a tall, skinny dude, had been gossiping with a friend. “Yeah, son, I’ma holla at you later, boy,” he yelled down the tier as the conversation wrapped up. “That shit was crazy!”
I was standing in my doorway, just keeping a quiet watch on my surroundings, when another inmate, Shaolin, rose from his bed and made his way to the bathroom, carrying his washcloth, soap, toothbrush, and toothpaste. A few minutes later, he returned and calmly approached Slim. “Excuse me,” Shaolin said. “Was that you speaking earlier?” Then he repeated his words. “You were the one who who said, ‘That shit was crazy’?”
Glowering, Slim turned to answer the question, but before he could get the words out, Shaolin cocked his hand back like the hammer on a gun and fired off a slap so hard that it echoed through the tier.
“This place’ll bring out the devil…
