Compton Baby

I find a lot of good shit. I remember the night I found this prison letter. It was Summer and Greg's friends were gathering at an ancient Downtown watering hole which had recently been made new again by promises of continued yuppie influx and expertly trained mixologists, fluent in the language of nostalgic libations and spirits of yester-year.

We gathered to see Greg off to La Ciudad de Mexico. I was nervous. Steffi would surely be amongst the well-wishers. I brought gifts. A billfold of crocodile leather for the nearly departed and for Steffi I arranged a bottle of French perfume and a book of poetry that was very uniquely American.

I found the letter, which originated in prison and was bound for an outsider, on a strip of Los Angeles Street that transforms nightly to a sort of hobo encampment. I picked up the still-sealed envelope and slipped it into a designer bag which, much like the letter, I had no business carrying.

It wasn't until weeks later that I opened the letter to an audience of 2 on the Intelligentsia patio.

The letter was authored by an incarcerated individual who referred to himself as Compton Baby.
Compton Baby wrote, with much tenderness, to a man he called New Orleans

Black people really love to refer to each other by the names of cities that they may be associated with.

Black people love to call me Red. I know this and I do not try to discourage it. Sometimes people call me Ginger. I don't really mind this either. I don't mind what you call me as long as it's not Late for Supper


Below I've included images of the actual letter along with a transcription. Please see my translation notes in red.

What’s up New Orleans: (This should be a comma but who’s counting?)

Well hom’me (homie?)

When you get this letter it fine (find?) you & your family in the best of God(‘s) Care.

So

How did you like the program? It(‘)s better then(than) jail anyday as you know

I’m getting ready for trail(unless his jailers are preparing him for a forced cattle drive through the barren West, I think he means trial) anyday now
Say(,) David man it’s time for something new cause the game down there is over with

It’s time to think on bigger thing(s) hom’me life is to(o) good when you give it a chance

Man I

Been down here 9mo fighting this dope case with no dope or no mark(ed?) money ,(.) I see them trying them giving people program with dope & mark(ed?) money I cant get a good lawyer to push it for me

Out come but that’s(oh, NOW he embraces the rules of the contraction) how the ball go(I think this is a mangled metaphor of some sort) but one thing us meeting I kept it real with you when you left me (WARNING: this where the letter veers tragically gay!!!) I made sure you had yours ( I bet, Pal)

That’s what real brothers do by keeping it real you don’t find to(o) many like me ! That’s why I’m a “Soldier” Wooole(I think this word is a an antyempt at using a artifact of Southern vernacular. They use this word similarly to the way we may use “dude”)

Brother When I get out of here hopefully soon we have to really kick it on some real brother shit Compton & New Orleans you know?

Well baby Boy I gotta look over some of my paperwork (what he’s crunched for time? Too much paper work? Is he a fuckin’ Tax attorney now?)hoping to get my lawyer to really help me

Your Real Homm’me(Homie),

Compton