Turning left on Slauson from the top of the hill is always a little thrilling. There, the city expands. More of that suburban sprawl pigmented with tall palm trees that I love so much. Those 50s buildings and colorful low-rise. Proud black people nodding, smiling, hustling. There, I drive down to Crenshaw where I make a right to Inglewood.

I’ve been sitting at that corner’s traffic light many, many times. I was supposed to be there on Sunday afternoon. It didn’t happen, too much biking that week.

I was hearing more and more about Nipsey. I didn’t know he was that invested in the neighborhood.

It’s always hard and personal to see black men die when they’re trying and achieving so much, from nothing.

The stakes are very high on this corner of the city. Property, real estate. New fucking development.

As predicted, the case makes no sense. It has nothing to do with gang rivalry. It might be pure toxic masculinity. Men can go and kill others for no damn reason. We see that everyday, sadly. Killing someone that much loved around is an automatic death sentence on yourself, though. You can be dumb as hell and understand that, even in the heat of a stupid argument.

Last night Russ dropped a 20-20-21 stat line –an absurdly hard feature- over the LA Lakers, dedicated it to his friend. Overwhelming.

The work continues. Always.

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