There was laughter and talking amongst the men inside of the holding cell. Po’s niggaz chopped it up amongst themselves about the time they were looking at for the guns and drugs they were caught with, while Po sat at the end of the bench lost in thoughts of his own. Out of all of his people, Po was the one looking at never seeing the sunlight again; being that he was already a two time loser. With this case, he was looking at twenty-five years to life under California’s three strike law. If nothing short of a miracle happened, he knew that he was washed up, but he wasn’t just going to lie down without getting some get-back. f**k that. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing that the b***h responsible for him being locked up for an eternity was still out in the free world.
Seeing on
