1888 Days
It’s December 14, 2012 and I’m riding a bus from Hollywood to Aventura mall. It would be a 30 minute drive. It’s a 90 minute bus ride. I’m reading a book. I arrive at the mall and walk to the retail establishment where my dead-end job is located. I tell myself I hate my life. I’ll feel like an idiot about that feeling very soon. I punch in and then jump on line. There’s been a shooting at a school in a little New England town no one I know has heard of. I know Sandy Hook, Connecticut because my sister lives there. A few blocks from the school. I call her and she doesn’t answer. I know my niece and nephew don’t attend that school but it’s still, literally, too close to home. I am a father of four and I’ve always had a soft spot for kids so any tragedy involving a child always hits too damn close to home. We will later this day learn that twenty children and six faculty members will die in that school. They are the victims of a sick young man who will also die there. His day ...