“'Love your
neighbor.'” His last words: “tell everyone on the train I love them.” An unanticipated
but well attended death. A
woman took her shirt off to
wrap him in and prayed. Down a narrow street at a bus stop a
man named Christian swigged a beer, yelled profanities at the
cops; the man who'd chased him down
called him “cocksucker,” demanded the cops shoot him.
“He stabbed them in front
of children,” he kept saying, as if it were children that were the
problem, not the knife or
his intent. Muttered
something about meth. For one
agitated moment, Jeremy
Christian
is all the lost men of America, screaming his hatred as he paces the
bus stop's narrow perimeter.
He's wearing sneakers and shorts. We can't see him well from this
distance, but who's to say we ever could. He's
every last blocked desire, every last casting of blame, every last
lost hope for agency this
culture has to withhold. His
mother can't believe he'd do such a thing. He was a nice man.
--30
May 2017
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