The anniversary of grief
It was 11 years ago today when I got the word.
One of my dearest friends from high school was gone, ripped from this world by a maniac whose outrage was, at least in part, due to being told he couldn’t stay and have a cup of coffee anymore because of his past actions.
Rather than leave as most of us would, he drew out a couple of Paraordinance 1911 handguns and opened fire, ripping a wound that hasn’t healed.
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