Hey guys, Noah here, continuing on with this series of why I’m in prison… Part 3…
So after I was hoping they’d keep me locked up but said I was free to go home, I went back to my apartment, and it was completely trashed from the cops tearing the place apart. After that I assumed I was gonna get evicted, which ended up not to be the case. But I knew I had to get out of the apartment for awhile.
I grabbed a number of belonging from my apartment and days later came back to clean it up and move my stuff out. In which I moved to a house with my friends in St. Paul, and it was in the hood. We started hanging out with some very unsavory characters but we probably didn’t seem like the best choice of company at the time either.
We were doing drugs everyday and usually all day. At the time I had decided to go back to one of the jobs I was working for painting as a pro and try run a franchise, because I had a bunch of money a couple months prior to invest but after another number of poor choices (the raid being one of the them) pretty much all that money was gone and I was not booking much work for the upcoming summer.
Throughout the course of that summer (as you can imagine) I ended up performing so terribly as a franchisee I ruined the reputation I had built over the course of 5 strong years when I started clean as a painter in which I moved to a job site manager and then ran a franchise for two years in college and received multiple awards for my performance.
Now if you called them for a reference they would probably only refer to the summer of 2011 and tell you that I owe them money.
But back to St. Paul…one of the characters we were hanging out with at the time is a local crack dealer and one night when he was over at our residence I ended up flashing some weed in front of him and he starts talking about trading some crack for weed, and I think sure why not?
Well, after we trade some he leaves and I don’t think anything of it. Until about an hour later, he comes back to the house with two buddies. A friend of ours lets them into the house without thinking anything suspicious.
Well, I was a little more alerted by the situation, but didn’t know how to defuse it as I had a head full of crack.
They wanted to trade more drugs and I figure screw it, whatever gets them out of here faster, so I turn around to walk into my room and I feel the cold steal press against the back of my neck, and I think “Fuck”!
Everything else happened pretty fast. The other two storm the house, run past me into my room, grab a duffle bag, and run out, the other one comes in swipes with lightning fast speed into my pocket for close to a thousand dollars of cash that I for some stupid reason was carrying around.
Well the other two were keeping my roommates at bay and sweeping the house. I go to grab my pipe and the gunmen watching me jumps at my and yells to stay put. I turn around and yell, “Fuck you! I am grabbing my pipe so I can take a hit if that is alright with you?!”
Yelling at the top of my lungs.
I then said, “You didn’t get a couple quarter pounds of weed in that bag, it was 10 fucking pounds of some high end shit, over $35,000 worth of shit, so good fucking score, now get the fuck out of my house and leave me to my crack.”
I don’t know what was going through the gunmen’s head, but he probably decided my suggestion sounded good enough, because he backed out of my room and left me be, and didn’t shoot me.
The others follow suit and left out the front door.
Our friend that let them in in the first place was pacing back and forth outside my room and yelled,“we need to call the cops.” I replied, “and what the hell are we going to tell them, that our crack dealer stole 10 pounds of weed off of us?” I sat there thinking… well what the in hell am I going to do now?…
Yet again, all time new low I never thought I’d hit.
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