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My Experience Coming To New York

My name is Schu DuPont; I’m a newly adopted member of the DuPont family. I was brought into the city by Slime, who is now my brother. Coming into the city with nothing but the clothes on my back and shoes on my feet, I had the world at my fingertips. I was broke and money hungry. So I did what anyone else would do in that situation and found whatever work I could. If that meant scrapping cars, breaking into houses, cooking meth, or selling weed, I did it. I needed the money one way or another. But like anyone in that life, all the good times must come to an end. The NYPD found me and took me in. This quick story got me where I am now, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.

It had to have been my 4th or 5th day in the city. As I said, I was broke and looking for work. I came across two gentlemen that seemed to have a good understanding of the city. They obviously knew about the dos and don’ts. I stuck around them for the evening, hoping to make a buck or two. We started the night casually by driving around looking for cars to scrap, hoping for electronics or anything, honestly. We chopped a few cars and made some money off of that, but we got greedy and took it a step further.

We started going for houses. The system seemed flawless. We stole a car from the casino, some idiot didn’t lock his Subaru STI, and we were able to use that in case we got caught. Little did we know there was enough weed in the truck to supply 2 Woodstocks. After hitting a few houses, the cops started to tail us. We were hot, and everything on us was hot, including the STI. The cops finally caught up to us, and it was an all-out chase—three guys vs the entire NYPD. My fifth night in the city, and I was shitting my pants. I was thinking to myself “Thank god this isn’t MY STI because I’m shitting all over the back seat.” After about a 10-minute chase around the entire city, the car broke down, and we tried making a run for it on foot. Note to self, does not ever end well. After long discussions with the officers trying to talk my way out of it, I was sentenced to a healthy amount of time in prison. But the story doesn’t end there. The other two gentlemen and I were talking to cops explaining how it started and where we got the STI. One officer stopped us and said, “You guys didn’t steal the car, it’s one of yours.” My heart sank because I only had one car in the city at that point in time: a Subaru STI with enough weed in the trunk to supply two Woodstocks. The entire night we were driving a car we thought to be someone else’s when in reality, it was my own car. We were never going to get away with this, and we didn’t. I had no clue we were using my car, and the sentence became even worse once I was made aware. I had committed multiple crimes in my own car, and worst of all, I shit in the back seat of my own car.