I think about a time I was in Juvenile hall when I was a kid. One of the most vibrant memories, and one lasting one was of a Latin King I had breakfast with. This guy I don’t his name, it was at the time I was new to lock up and scared shitless. But you gotta front or you gonna get fucked up. I was a total 15 year-old wanna be for sure. I was scared, and pretty disturbed, having my freedom restricted. The idea, of not being able to go to 7 – 11. That rattled me and made realize how big of a mistake I have made. I hung with the Kings in my neighborhood, so that dictated that I was gonna ride with the Kings in the Audie Home. So I’m sitting at a table with the rest of the people, This kid probably about 16 was inked up, definitely not following the Yakuza tradition of covering up your ink and not getting an exposed piece. He had a lot of ink, black and white, no color. He knuckles were done, He had a massive playing card King Head Profile on his arm which left no doubt what clan he belonged to. Breakfast that day, to hard-boiled eggs, and oj. I remember it was difficult to talk, the guards would bust your shit if you represented a gang or got lippy. We were able to talk in whisper only. He told me he was from down south. I told him where I was from, his response was incredulous, like when a tourist comes up to you for directions to something that obvious. At that time, I felt caged, I looked around at my peers and they were all fucked up, fucked hair, they smelled, they were gone. I had that moment, when I was forced to look at myself. I was just like them, in my powder grey pin-stripe baggies and Chuck Taylors. Did I want this to be my career? Was I going to be a jail-bird? I would have to get much harder much quicker. fortunately, I was released after a nite. I just recall riding in the backseat of my father’s car, both my parents lecturing, I wasn’t listening to them, I felt a hardness deep in my heart, and I thought about those tattoos….