The Straight and the Narrow

I would be an absolutely shit criminal.

I’ve thought about this at length, and those people have a gargantuan set of nuts. They are able to separate themselves from their conscience and just run with it, which is a quality that I do not possess. I smoked someone’s last cigarette once. They told me how they felt by punching me in the chest while I was sleeping. (I thought it was a bit of an overreaction, but I do feel that I learned a lot about consequence due to this series of events.) That’s about as far as the badassery goes for me. Anyway, I’m not sitting here condoning any kind of illegal activity. All I’m saying is that criminals have a certain air of confidence, and I find it to be quite the mind fuck.

I thought maybe I could be in charge of driving the getaway car, but I’m much too cautious for that shit. I’d be all like “Hey, stop being so yelly. This is a red light and I care about your safety. Also, could you please buckle up? I would hate to get fined.” I like to play Fleetwood Mac on road trips and pretty much any other time that I am in the car, which probably wouldn’t sit well with my thug friends.

There are a lot of reasons why prison is not for me. One of those reasons is jail tattoos. Everyone would be like “Karlee, let me inscribe upon your body this symbol of brotherhood.” I don’t think so, man. Hep C is not my bag, and I’m gonna need to see your portfolio before we go any further.

High risk situations give me tummy trouble. When I’m afraid, I have to make an honest effort to keep myself from shitting my pants.It takes every ounce of concentration (which I do not have a lot of to begin with,) and I often have to sit down because I get sweaty and light headed. Something tells me that nobody is going to wait for me to dook before we hop into the aforementioned getaway car.

I couldn’t hustle drugs, either. Mostly because I’d never actually sell any. Some dude would come to me all twitchin’ and sketchin’ and I would be thinking “Those are some sick scabs. Wait- that’s what they want me to think. I bet they are just very severe acne scars. This is definitely a narc.”

All joking aside, I think that the real reason I could never indulge in criminal activity is because I’ve never had to. I don’t know what it is to steal to survive. I don’t know what it is to sell narcotics to provide for my family. I don’t know what it is to view the walls of a penitentiary as shelter. While I feel incredibly fortunate, my heart still aches for those who belong to this reality, and I wish that there was some way for me to let these people know that they have a choice and a right to a clear conscience.

I believe that if we wish our communities to be safe havens for all who reside there, we must be willing to give back. If we live and provide for only ourselves, then we can expect every man to act according to their own personal agenda. We catch more flies with honey than we do vinegar, and I think education and rehabilitation are of paramount importance.

Life has a way of surprising us. Just when we think that we know what we are getting, the phone rings. Tires squeal. A storm blows in. We are never more than a stone’s throw away from desperation. And if it ever happens to me, I hope that people will see me through, no matter what mistakes I make, no matter how hard I become in my fight. I hope that there will always be a second chance to do things right.

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