By Annie Reuter
Lil Wayne won’t release his memoir Gone ‘Til November: A Journal of Rikers Island until October 11, but fans can read an early excerpt of the book via New York Magazine.
The memoir details Lil Wayne’s eight-month stint in jail in 2010 where the rapper vividly details his day-to-day at Rikers Island as well as visits from friends like Kanye West and Diddy. Read an excerpt below of his first day locked up below:
I’ve never been one who doesn’t take full responsibility for his actions, but damn, I really don’t deserve this. If I hadn’t traded my blue Marc Jacobs jeans, white polo, and gray Vans for green onesies, I wouldn’t have believed this s–t myself.
I had to talk to the prison psychiatrist when I got here. I told her that I shouldn’t be talking to her because I’m not crazy … but I ended up really enjoying her conversation. Is that crazy? We talked about traveling the world, where we’ve been and where we would like to go, BUT both of us were in jail … crazy!
My next conversation didn’t go so well. As I was being led to the captain’s office, I was still just trying to figure out what I was about to go through. I got lost in the thought of how each step that I made was one step farther from everything that I love. And to what? A world of dysfunction, disrespect, and distrust. Come to think of it, it is sort of like the music biz only without the female groupies.
As soon as I sat down in the captain’s office, his exact first words to me were, “Don’t f— with my staff!” Damn! Definitely won’t be getting any celebrity treatment from the captain. The whole conversation was him telling me, “Don’t come in here trying to be what you are. You’re not gonna ‘Lil Wayne’ up this mothaf—-!”
All I was thinking was, Since there’s nothing else to explain here, I’m done with this dude, so just take me to my cell and I’ll stay out of your way. After the captain’s great words of discouragement, I was handed a towel, two sheets, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a green cup. Oh yeah, and a cell, cell 29.
As soon as I heard the cell door lock behind me, I just sat on the back wall and the tears began to flow as I took my first glimpse at my new digs: three buckets, one bed, one toilet that was surprisingly kind of clean (emphasis on kind of), a rusty-ass sink with a mirror the size of a small notepad, a desk, and a window. A clothesline was left hanging in the cell. I decided to leave it because I figured it would come in handy.
Read the complete excerpt in New York Magazine.