A Moment Of Silence
I don’t know if it’s because I went to Vegas that this week seemed so long. But it feels like it’s been a year since I was there. Maybe the city takes ten years off your life. Or maybe it’s just been the chaos of this week that’s aged me.
I never had a moment to breath. I feel like I was waterboarded in my office. And now the burlap sack has been taken off my head and it’s Friday. And to think, just yesterday, someone was murdered outside my building. It’s a strange thought. Death isn’t a part of my daily routine. Violence is something I shy away from. And now it’s an office joke. A claim to fame. We’re proud that it happened outside our building. Maybe it’s easier to deflect the reality then to actually face it.
A forty year old man was stabbed to death. I don’t know who he was. I don’t even know his name. But usually when people are killed in the street there’s a makeshift memorial of flowers, candles, and a picture of the Virgin Marry.
Now there’s nothing but a line waiting to get into the bar.
That was really sad.
I think though, that people joke because dealing with the reality is just too much. Because thinking that there was someone killed — someone’s son, possibly someone’s father or brother, undoubtedly someone’s loved one, and with such violence… well, it’s a coping mechanism. Because you don’t want to think the neighborhood you work is unsafe. And you don’t want to think that right outside your office doors someone’s life ended.
If I lived in LA, or even within a hour of LA, I would print this post and tape it to the wall outside your office door.