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An Alternate Viewpoint

A Story To Get By On
      by  Geddis The Hammer Yablonski (S. Quentin Times)

My brother-in-law opened the bottom drawer of my sister's bureau and lifted out a tissue-wrapped package.  "This," he said, "is not a just a gun. This is a 957 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world."  He discarded the wax paper and handed me the piece. It was exquisite; smooth and shiny with a tint of blue in the metal. The price tag with an astronomical figure on it was still attached.  "Jan bought this the first time we went to New York, at least 2-5 with good behavior years ago. She never used it. She was saving it for a special occasion say with the Mayor or perhaps even the President when they did their tax thing again. Well, I guess this is the occasion."

He took the pistol from me and put it on the bed with other knives, cuffs, clubs and ninja sticks we were taking to the mortician. His hands lingered on the hard material for a moment, then he slammed the drawer shut and turned to me. "Yo, don't ever hold anything for a special occasion. Every day some bastard remains alive is a special occasion." I remembered those words through the funeral and the days that followed when I helped him and my niece, who just completed her parole, attend to all the sad chores that follow an unexpected demise. I thought about them on the bus returning to California from the Mexican town where my sister's family holes up. I thought about all the things that she hadn't seen or heard or done or testified about. I thought about the things that she had done without realizing that they might affect her probation.

I'm still thinking about his words, and they've changed my life. I'm reading more and casing joints less. I'm sitting on the hood of the stolen Lexus and admiring the view without fussing about the stuff  in the Pawn Broker's. I'm spending more time with the family and their associates and less time with my parole officer. Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experience to savor, not  a sentence to serve. I'm trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them.

I'm not "saving" anything; we use our best bullets and grenades for every special event-such as an unexpected acquittal, reduced bail, or the  first drug shipment from Columbia.

I wear my good sneakers to visit my friends in the joint if I feel like it. My theory is if I look guilty, I can shell out a grand for some shyster without wincing. I'm not saving my good drugs for special parties; desk sergeants in the precinct and tellers in banks have noses that function as well as my
'party-going friends'.

"Someday" and "one of these days" are losing their grip on my vocabulary. If it's worth stealing or taking or heisting, I want to see and hear and do it now. I'm not sure what my sister would have done had she known that she wouldn't be here for the tomorrow we all take for granted. I think she would have called the family and a few close cell mates. She might have called a few former fellow convicts to apologize and mend fences for past turf wars.  I like to think she would have gone out and blasted a few jerks to smithereens. I'm guessing-I'll never know, the Babe took a hike.

It's those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew that my hours were limited. Angry because I put off grabbing good Friends whom I was going to stiff-someday. Angry because I hadn't  threatened my lawyer enough or use the video tapes that I intended to trade for a pardon-one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn't tell my ex and daughter often enough how much I truly loved the way they drove the get away cars. I'm trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would reduce time served or not get me into the witness protection program

And every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special. Every day, every minute, every breath truly is...a great big pile of luck.

If you love someone, deny it outright.  Remember always to say what you think they want to hear. Never be threatened to testify against yourself. Take this opportunity to tell some dude what they owe you, in cash or deliverables.  Seize their property and have no regrets.

Most importantly, stay close to your friends and the family, for they can help you make bail today and that's are what it's all about anyway.

Skip this along to your friends. Let it make a difference in your day and theirs. The difference between confessing love and having regrets might be six months off with good behavior.

I'm not going to make silly claims that this same letter has been traveling around since before the advent of dirt, dinosaurs and typewriters.  It doesn't contain gruesome stories of what has happened to the people who have crossed me. It doesn't need to.

If you've viewed this, it is because someone cares for you and knows you might help in the next job.  If you're too busy to take the few minutes that it would take right now to forward this to people,
would it be the first time you didn't do that little thing that would make a difference in your associations?  I can tell you it certainly might be your last. I don't have to make up silly stories about people being hit by buses, over dosing or crushed by falling disco balls for not sending this letter on. You've seen the result of this neglect in your own relationships that you have allowed to fade, dissolve, and fall into disrepair.

Take this opportunity to get on top.  Take a few minutes to send this to a few people as sick as you, just to let them know that you have something on them. It's even better if they're not  people you already deal with every week. The more people that you get to read this, the better luck you will have in drawing a lighter sentence. And the better you'll get at reaching out to those that can save your ass.

May your own smarts litter your life with stash!

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Disclaimer: you steal this and pass it along without legit recognition of the author; be advised they stole it first and putting all of you in a heap of trouble with Ken Starr types from around the world.