I was born in 1956. Through my twenties and thirties I rode with an outlaw motorcycle club — I won't name it, and I won't tell you it was glamorous. Two years in state prison for possession with intent to distribute. Then a federal RICO case in 1996, and twenty-seven years in high-security penitentiaries. I walked out at sixty-seven. I chose that life, and I paid for it with thirty calendar years.
Inside, you learn people the way a sailor learns weather. Who's having a bad day. What a long look means. What a promise is worth. When to talk, and when one wrong sentence will follow you for a decade.
I started a channel to tell the truth about it — not the movie version. The videos people watched most were about words: what prisoners never say out loud, never say to a guard, never say on the phone. And the question in the comments was always the same: so what should we say instead?
This book is the answer. It's not a prison memoir and it's not a tough-guy book. It's forty rules for people who never plan to see the inside of a cell — and the exact words to use when it counts.
— J. Whitfield
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