Thug Memoir

by Vlad Pelvitski
(San Francisco, CA)

Thug Memoir

Keeping my money in the bank, fraction of a percent, I get back in interest. No I ain’t robbing a bank, the bank robs me —this is just payback. Taxes and Tariffs on my mind, corrupted politicians — got my buck. Wall Street and the FED is at fault — I won’t take responsibility for underachieving my financial goals.

Gotta pay my bills, raise the kids. Sorry I shot you — now you are free from greed. Police is coming, the blue lights keep flashing, no time to pay my respects. Gotta run, I hope to see you in heaven one day. I storm out, the police have just finished their warning shot. I’m surrounded, there is nowhere to run. My fight-or-flight system is faulty, I do neither, I drop to the ground like Nick Nolte.

Court day is coming, my public defender is nowhere to be found. Cellmate is jousting, Watch-out! Here comes the punch — who has turned-off the lights? Woke up a minute later, my heads feels a pound fatter. Shockingly, I don’t feel any pain — adrenaline is flushing through my veins. The view is disrupted, my left eye is busted. I try to stand up, a second punch comes flying by — saved by a Lawyer who has just stopped by.

No time to address — Judge yells: “sit down your ass!” Attorney is shrugging, the verdict is coming. The Jury is laughing, I feel “big time” is coming. Detained, arrested, and abused. My mind is racing, how can I be excused? A technicality of sorts? Or just a simple ruse? Whew! I woke up, it was just another lucid dream.

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