CHARLIE HAD JUST GOTTEN OUT OF JAIL. He had been there for twelve years. He was Twenty when he went in; now he was thirty-two. He walked the once familiar streets, as if he had just seen them for the first time. Though some of the businesses had changed names, and changed owners, or were once knocked down, or burned down. Things were still the same for the most part. The laundry mats, the small shops, the gas stations, the restaurants were still there. But everything seemed smaller, and he was aware that he was not very young anymore, and the teenagers walking the boulevard reminded him of this fact. His build was a little stockier, his gait heavier, and faints of lines began to show on his face. Where did the time go? All that time in the pen, he was lucky to still be alive. So this was what freedom was like... He had forgotten what it had felt like. He watched the young kids walking around---they were so carefree, in their thoughts and bodies. They were young and soft: he felt the urge to want to slap a couple of them, to let them know what pain felt like it, in case they had never been introduced to it. He felt the violence increase in him. Some kid had nearly ran over his shoe on a bicycle. He wanted to run after him, grab, choke him….. But he better not do that… he had just gotten out of jail, remember. He thought that he better go into a local bar for a drink, to calm down, and to make plans for the future.

The bar was sparsely populated, which was the way he liked all bars. He sat down near the bartender and looked up at the television without seeing anyone. The barkeep eventually came over; smiled at him sarcastically. He ordered a screwdriver and sipped the thing quickly, not wanting to get drunk, but due to nerves. Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed someone watching him. They were also alone, or perhaps they were with someone who went to the restroom. The kid was in his mid twenties, and had an imaginative, curious, yet someone innocent looks in his face, which made Charlie curious. He made eye contact, and the kid smiled back. Charlie got up, and made his way towards him, and sat down next to him.

“My name’s Charlie, my man how are ya?”

He stuck out his had, and shook his hand firmly.

“I’m pretty tired, just a little bored, I guess. Not a lot of interesting things, or people around.”

“Shit, you can say that again. Mind if I smoke?”

Charlie pulled out his cigarette before kid could reply.

“I didn’t get your name, my man.”

“Name’s Tony.”

“Well Tony, my man, I just got outta jail man. Twelve years in there. Can you imagine that?” Twelve years. I’m trying to get used to this newfound freedom. I’m used to people telling me what to do all day long. This freedom stuff is hard.”

“Twelve years? I can’t imagine doing twelve years.”

“And you don’t want to imagine it. Trust me.”

Charlie looked forward as if he was not seeing anything.

Convicted continues...
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About Damion Hamilton


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Damion Hamilton is from Saint Louis MO and works in a warehouse. He believes poetry should be raw and written in blood.
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