In March 2010, after being convicted of criminal possession of a pistol, Dwayne Carter, a.k.a. Lil Wayne, began an eight-month stint on Rikers Island, where he prayed, worked out, tried to keep his head down—and kept a prison journal.
Day One Up in This Bitch!
I’ve never been one who doesn’t take full responsibility for his actions, but damn, I really don’t deserve this. If I hadn’t traded my blue Marc Jacobs jeans, white polo, and gray Vans for green onesies, I wouldn’t have believed this shit myself.
I had to talk to the prison psychiatrist when I got here. I told her that I shouldn’t be talking to her because I’m not crazy … but I ended up really enjoying her conversation. Is that crazy? We talked about traveling the world, where we’ve been and where we would like to go, BUT both of us were in jail … crazy!
My next conversation didn’t go so well. As I was being led to the captain’s office, I was still just trying to figure out what I was about to go through. As soon as I sat down, his fucking first words to me were, “Don’t fuck with my staff!” Damn! Definitely won’t be getting any celebrity treatment from the captain.
After the captain’s great words of discouragement, I was handed a towel, two sheets, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a green cup. Oh yeah, and a cell, cell 29. As soon as I heard the cell door lock behind me, I just sat on the back wall and the tears began to flow as I took my first glimpse at my new digs: three buckets, one bed, one toilet that was surprisingly kind of clean (emphasis on kind of), a rusty-ass sink with a mirror the size of a small notepad, a desk, and a window. A clothesline was left hanging in the cell. I decided to leave it because I figured it would come in handy.
Welcome 2 Da Family
The guys on my tier made me feel like I was a part of a family … like a brotherhood. I was the new brother and they showed me love just like one. They gave me magazines, tea, some better soap than the prison’s soap, an earphone radio, and extra chow.
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