Soon after it was said that the man’s name was Jerome, the man we sold the hash to at Woodstock. A few seconds later, it said the man was facing 50 years of no parole. I sat there in shock for a moment before the guilt crept up, I knew it was my fault, but I tried to think that it was his fault for doing drugs, but deep down I knew. Many times, I tried to get the journal I wrote in prison back, but no matter how much I begged and pleaded they never budged, they would just