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  • How easy it is to get caught up in the world's affairs. To rail at those brought down the airliner in the Ukraine, or at those who throw death at each other in Gaza.

    And all the while death shadows the land I walk upon myself.

    On Saturday night, at a reunion of alumni from University City High School - my son's old school - drawn guns led to one man dead and one man wounded.

    Down this path in Heman Park.

    Next to the River Des Peres, that strange part-river/part-drainage ditch that runs through and under St. Louis.

    A city worker is washing the blood from the concrete. He has a bottle of washing-up liquid and a stiff brush. Laboriously he scrubs at the stone, removing any trace of blood's rust.

    I cycle past this place twice daily on my way to and from work.

    I pay it no mind.

    And I will pay it no mind again after my memory of this murder has faded.

    For daily, but once a day, I cycle across another spot in Forest Park. Another place that was stained with a dying man's blood, not yet a year ago.

    No memorial there.

    And there will be none here.

    Only washed stone.
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