Homeless.
After a long hiatus from writing, The Prisoner’s Journal is back. The rest of the story will chronicle Ren’s final year in prison as he gears up to return to the wild.
I’d like to give a huge thank you to everyone who held on, and to my current paying subscribers.
You guys are cool as fuck.
If you want to follow the story of what happened after I paroled, stay tuned for the launch of my next newsletter. If you thought prison was crazy you should see what I can do with a little freedom.
But let’s see how I got there…
“Your request for transfer to San Diego was denied. They’re sending you back to your county of origin.”
“Wait, what? What do you mean? I’m supposed to go to college down there though. County of origin?”
“I don’t make the decisions. And yes, you’ll be paroling to where you grew up.”
I gave the parole services agent a blank stare. She was in her early thirties with raven hair and pretty eyes, but too much make up. None of that registered though. Behind my eyes there were a thousand images flashing across my mind. Redwood trees and old oaks, sunburnt grass and hot arid air. But also raging storms. And the feeling of being soaked and not knowing where you will sleep. Not having money for food. And the feeling of a police-issue Glock being pressed to the back of my head while adrenaline coursed through my veins.
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“I don’t think your county offers reentry housing. So,
if you don’t find an address, then you’ll be paroled transient.”
Homeless. I was paroling homeless.
Keep it real, -Ren