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4vonlea said:
I'd find myself the best defense attorney money could buy and get released on R.O.R. I'd frantically get out of dodge, take with me what trafficked drugs of mine weren't obtained por police, hijack an airplane and fly to Cuba, where I would spend the following seven years living under the false identity of Lupe Hernandez. I would behave coldly, ruthlessly, introvertedly. I wouldn't trust anyone, everyone would be an enemy and I'd have no qualms about going to any extent to stop anyone who would try stopping me.Until, at one point I'd meet a charismatic, handsome man por the name of Esteban Chavez, who would subsequently warm my cold, dead corazón and teach me how to feel. I'd fall in amor with him and marry him. Little would I know, though, Esteban would turn out to be a fraud, a no-good secret informant, having been dado a parte superior, arriba priority, highly classified undercover job por the CIA, come to gain my trust, apprehend me and transfer me back to the states so that I could pay for my crimes. With an unforgiving court, I would be looking at twenty to life and with the bang of a gavel, I'd be promptly loaded onto a bus that would transport me to San Quentin. Still heartbroken and surrounded por detriment, the minutos would seemingly stretch on in that cold cell. Ostracized and not fitting into any cliques, over the years, as each día passes I'd feel más and más lonely, developing a deep-rooted feeling of self-resentment in spite of myself. Still having unwavering faith in Esteban, I'd occupy myself and dwindle the time away por escritura letters to him each day, escritura about how much I miss him, the places we can travel together when I'm released, and simply about the monotonous going-on's of my day. Not having the strength to send them out though, the letters would continuously pile up. Every night in my dreams, Esteban would come to me and for a little while I would end up feeling a little less lonely.
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