Dating a dope dealer

Most were delusional about their options in life such as dreaming about being a rap star, or investing some of their unconfiscated gains in a business and “going legit”.

Or maybe they just figured that if they did their time they would make dependable rats on the street and could deal dope until caught and then stay out by giving up information on others.

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I do know that there were at least one hundred cell phones on the camp compound on any given day, and many of those phones were shared by more than one inmate. There were two bathrooms and a large closet that was left unlocked giving the inmates and their guests three rooms to take turns having sex.

Pick any week of the year and at least two thirds of the inmate population there had made a cell phone call that week. As for the Justice Department, they do not want to know. No question they have known for two or more decades of this situation and keep the information secret from the public. Andrew Fastow, the ex-CFO of Enron was not at Schuylkill, but he is doing his time at a camp.

” A few months later in winter a black inmate from Washington D. who had nowhere to go after his sentence hid in a closet in one of the two units when he was called to go. He was rearrested less than a week later and they assigned him behind the fence at the FCI at Schuylkill rather than the camp because they knew he would not stop coming back if they allowed him to return to the camp. And a lot of these inmates seemed to be bulletproof too.

It occurred to me that the Feds treat a percentage of inmates so well that it would be a great idea for any homeless American to get himself a Federal sentence at a camp. The camp at Schuylkill not only had a track, it had weights outside on the track area and inside. A black inmate named “pimp” went to the Hole twice for 30 days for testing positive for marijuana, which he never stopped smoking. Another black inmate -”GI”- who seemed like a certifiable psychopath, someone who should definitely be locked behind a fence, was doing a long stretch of his nine year sentence for cocaine distribution at the camp, and doing it drunk every night of the week while talking on his cell phone.

I was only there a month, sitting in the rock garden -it looked like a little park, a rock garden setting out of Better Homes and Gardens, right next to the regulation size running track with a greenhouse and vegetable garden on the other side- one evening just after dinner when four inmates playing cards broke out in loud laughter and one slapped his knee and exclaimed “Damn I’m having fun!

If I could hit pussy twice a week I would never leave!

Full size Olympic sets such as you would find at a fitness club. He would take his picture with the phone and post his picture on dating Web sites along with his cell phone number.

He had six different “bitches” calling him throughout the week.

One day I sat down to eat breakfast with a white guy with the same first name as me. Some guy who uploaded MP3 files to the internet (he had a good job on the street too, not anymore) who was prosecuted by the FBI out of northern Virginia.

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