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Today, I have 23 days left. I have learned that taking people’s things is not the way.

As a young boy from a family of six, we lived in San Francisco. My mother gave us what she could, but money was tight. And I liked nice things. I found myself taking things that got me what I wanted. By 18, I was breaking into houses. After a few times, I went to the pen for six years. I got my first D-number. I started doing artwork to ease my mind. As I got out, I went back to what I knew. It wasn’t even a year before I was back in the pen with an H-number. I started doing my artwork. Time passed, and I was out again. Not knowing taking things was my addiction, I went back for a P-number. After getting out, I wanted to get out of San Francisco, so I went to Texas. As soon as I got off the bus, I found myself doing the same thing, and I went to the pen in Texas for ten years. After going to the pen two times in Texas, I came back to San Francisco. After 25 years of being a free man, someone tried to rob me at a red light in San Francisco. After that gun was put in my face, I took off/ tried to get away. I killed someone.

Today, I have 23 days left. I have learned that taking people’s things is not the way. I have changed my life on my own, and God has changed my hands from sticky fingers to God-gifted hands—
That’s from doing so much artwork over the years.

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These stories arrive by mail.

Every month, a physical envelope arrives at your door, postmarked from San Quentin Village, California. Inside, you will find original artwork, writing, and recipes from real contributors, along with a personal letter from me, Diane Kahn, founder of Humans of San Quentin, about the people who made them. You read it. You keep it.

Every piece comes from someone serving a sentence. Every piece reminds you they are so much more than that.

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