On the Road
Today on my way in to work I took the scenic route -- meaning I drove up MLK through the Cultural Gardens to 90 and took 90 into the city.
When I got onto 90, there was a huge motorcade of police cars from all different jurisdictions (including places I'd never heard of), light bars flashing, riding in procession. Presumably to Avon. I could not count how many there were. I tried, but I couldn't keep count.
I didn't know the officer that was murdered in the line of duty in the Heights. But I know Anne, and she knew him. And I thought of the family and friends he left behind. And I thought about the restraint the other officers must have had in not killing the sick excuse for a man that shot him on the scene. I heard he made a circus of his own arraignment, appearing without (and refusing) counsel, spouting off outlandish nonsense that surely will be used later to demonstrate his mental unfitness.
It is at a time like this that what I normally would call justice seems grossly inadequate. There is nothing that can be done that brings back Jason West.