In DTLA, there are lots of folks. Some of them are walking quickly to work, some are just trying to keep their pants up. I’ve written about this before, but it’s part of why I love it here: it may not always be pretty, but it’s honest.
People often ask if I feel safe here. Yes. Because I don’t walk at night in certain areas and I use my brain. Los Angeles is a huge city. Crime happens everywhere. Living in Beverly Hills will not make me feel better about humanity.
I hear sirens regularly, and often wonder at the unintelligible shouts and hoots that drift over the roof, and hope the lady with no shoes and a lot of anger is eating on a daily basis.
When I do walk at night, it’s usually with Arlo, and I often wear a hoodie.
Unless you live under Gibraltar, you’re hearing updates about the Trayvon Martin incident almost by the minute. This crime sickens me so completely that my brain sort of shuts off when I think about it. Because if you really think about it, even for a few moments, it should make you run into the street and yell your head off. So I do what I can in a local, immediate way, but it feels superficial.
Nothing about what I’ve learned regarding the situation, the events that led to the shooting, the history of Zimmerman, makes any kind of sense. What the hell was Zimmerman thinking? Maybe nothing. Maybe this is what being an “over-zealous,” volunteer neighborhood watch guy with a gun gets you. Listen to how he talks to the dispatcher. Listen to the 911 calls, and the testimony Trayvon’s girlfriend gives. Trayvon was terrified and put his hoodie on.
I can’t think of how many times I’ve put my hoodie up because I felt uncomfortable, or just wanted to disappear while walking. Now this gesture is a sign of guilt?
And because of this Stand Your Ground Law, you’re allowed to use “deadly force” if you feel threatened.
I don’t care if Zimmerman had five bloody noses and a scrape on his arm. He had a gun and he used it to kill a kid carrying Skittles.
This is worth getting very, very angry about.