My name is Joe, I am in prison for murdering my girlfriend after I caught her cheating on me with some old dude. Come to find out she’d been a hooker for a while and not told me. Lying slut! Anyway, I walked in and they were doing what he’d paid for and I guess he had paid for the special because was doing him good better than she has ever done me, but I guess I’ve never paid for it.” I smiled at the thought of that, my half a mouth of rotten or missing yellow teeth.

I used to look better before I came to prison 15 years ago but prison does something to you. It doesn’t just play on your mind it plays on your body and emotions and your senses. You lose touch with real-world normalcy. I don't know what is going on from day to day out there. I wish I did because all I know in here is which area a white man like me can and can't go and who I can and can't wheel and deal with to get food that isn't prison slop. I don't get to go outside but 1 hour every 24 hours and my turn are usually in the evening.

Anyway back to the story “, she was earning that money I could tell I hope it was a lot because she was good! I stood in shock for a second that my girlfriend of over 3 years who I have let live with me rent-free and be jobless for a year was doing this to me hadn't quite sunk in to my very thick skull, my mom always did say I had a thick skull. After a few minutes, I slammed the front door of the apartment to announce to everyone the hardworking, putter of food on the table and payer of bills was home.

The little weasel got up from the couch and hurriedly pulled up his pants and tried to get around me, I stuck my arm out and asked she had been paid yet, she said no, I told him my beef wasn't with so pay the girl. He threw $50 at her and I let him go. After all, he didn't know any different. My girlfriend knew how I felt about cheating. I had told her from the beginning if I ever caught her it would be the last thing she ever did to me. I asked how long shied been doing it and said before she met me. Now I was really getting mad. Because I was feeling like the side piece.

She told me none of the johns matter and she loved me. I told her that she couldn't she would have given it up. I told that I was going to take a shower she better not be there when I get out or it'll all be over. Well I came out of the bathroom and she was still sitting on the couch in her little hooker outfit from the day and I just saw red, I had warned her it would be bad. I walked into my bedroom and put on some going to jail clothes and got my .44 out of my closet and walked to the living room and shot her from across the room. Then I called the police and now I am here serving life.

Now the only two people I used to write to we're my sister and my mom. Well, there's only so much they can talk about each week. So they told me they were going to sign me up for a pen palling website. That was 11 years ago. I got so many replies the first couple of months and year then it stopped. I have about 5 of those people who I still write to every week. One is a lady in Wisconsin, one is a lady in Florida, one is a lady in Louisiana one is a guy in Texas and one is a guy that moves around a lot. He tells me some crazy stories. His letters I look forward to the most because they are funny and he talks about intelligent stuff and just stuff he has done.

I haven't heard from him since he was in northern California 2 months ago and it's not like him to that long without writing. Well I haven't had a cell mate in over a year because me cellies say I am too hard to get along with. I think I'm a nice guy I am easy to get along. They say I should expect to get one this afternoon so I am pretty stoked.

Oh them yelling fresh fish he must be coming. Yeap they are stopping at my cell. Ok doors closed. I turn around and I see the guy from last weeks newspaper that I just got today. He is the serial killer the California ripper. They didn't say his real name.

After a couple weeks getting to know him he definitely seems familiar to me like I know him. But I can't tell where from. He has told me his first name but I don't think it's his real name because that was my pen Pals name. I couldn't have been writing a serial killer could I? I think I would know if I was wouldn't I? I go back through our letters while he sleeps and sure enough I had missed some of the small hints and phrases and signs that he had given me that he was more than just a regular man writing a murderer. Well now I know me and this cell mate won't fall out because we know what its like to kill.