Remember where you were when you heard the worst possible news?
“Michael Jackson, The King of Pop, has died” Tilden Avenue. Brooklyn, NY
“The incomparable Whitney Houston was found dead in a Beverly Hills hotel room.” IKEA’s showroom floor in Elizabeth, NJ
“George Zimmerman found not guilty” was captioned on the bottom of the television screen. I read it and it seemed to smear across the television screen like fingerprint swipes.
I was in Bellevue Hospital in NYC on 28th and 1st Avenue where I had driven my dear friend and brethren to be admitted because of a 104.3 degree
fever. He’s 31. Young. Black. Male. And, he’s battling Liver Cancer.
….there are so many questions and thoughts in my mind and [I feel] so much weight in my shoulders–I tell Trayvon Martins everyday that they can go so far in this world. I kind of feel like a liar. Now I need to advise them against Florida…
I can’t look these young Black men in the eye as I walk by on the NYC streets.
That’s what I’m thinking…
I’m still shocked!
That’s another thought.
So many thoughts in these times and places.