Escargot, my car go, one-sixty, swiftly…

March 9th is a date I always see coming in advance, but realizing it has been twenty years since Christopher Wallace was murdered in the streets of L.A. was more than a little startling this morning. I was a 19-year-old kid, and just six months removed from when Tupac Shakur was similarly taken from us — and, now, I am only a little over four months away from turning 40.

That was half my lifetime ago, and it still feels a little too raw. Not simply due to the senseless murders, but the fact that both homicide cases remain unsolved.

I don’t know… it just all seems so ridiculous now.


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