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Chapter 3

The Concrete Jungle

O ne spring afternoon years ago, out in the far eastern plains of Colorado, the air was weighed

down with discontent inside of the illuminated prison cell house where eighteen- year old, J Dub had been delivered only days earlier. On this same day, one of the “„OG‟”s from J Dub‟s “„homies”‟ rival gang, freshly transferred from another state prison, swaggered into the same, glass- enclosed unit to a warm hero‟s welcome from the other “„G‟”s in his gang. This “„OG‟” was one of the founders of the gang and had represented it for over twenty years.

The Concrete Jungle

Less than ten minutes after he made his royal entrance, he gathered twenty or so fellow members into a far corner at the bottom of the stairs, and it was there that they would demonstrate and confirm their false sense of self-appointed control over the unit. Minutes later, the members of J Dub‟s “„homies‟” gang also congregated in a cell on the upper tier for a meeting of their own. Even though J Dub wasn‟t an official member, he was invited to join them. Trouble was inevitable, but for several days it remained silent and hidden, under cover until Saturday night. As I arrived back to the unit, fatigued from working out at the gym, I felt the buzz of disorder. Everyone‟s attention seemed to be up on the second tier. I continued toward my cell, and when I happened to look up, I noticed J Dub slipping inside the cell of the “„OG‟” that had just entered the unit days earlier. I paused for a moment, then unintentionally broke a prison

The Concrete Jungle

commandment, and walked towards a bench to observe what was going on. That‟s because I knew J Dub since he was born. Abruptly, the slam of a heavy steel cell door echoed throughout the whole cell house and caused an uneasy moment of silence. At once, the silence ended abruptly with echoing thumps and bangs rebounding off the same cell door. Breaking another prison commandment, I proceeded towards that cell. I scrambled towards the stairs when the cell door swung open, and four young gangsters exploded out past me and down the stairs. I looked up and saw J Dub on his hands and knees, almost lifelessly crawling out of the cell, then toppling over onto the cold cement floor. When I finally reached him and gazed into his swollen, closed, red eyes my heart jolted because both sides of his face were blown up to the size of cantaloupes. The dark blood gushing from the side of his mouth, nose, and his

The Concrete Jungle

ripped bloated lips made my heart drop. Lockdown, lockdown!” shouted the “„goon squad‟” stampeding through the unit, ordering everyone back to their cells and forcing them to do so by any means necessary.

To find out what happened to J Dub Go to AmazonKindle.com What Teens Must Know! Real Talk Vol.1