Mourners at the Staples Center ahead of a memorial for rapper Nipsey Hussle in Los Angeles (April 11, 2019. REUTERS/Patrick T. Fallon).
It took me five-and-half days to get to the Marathon Store after Nipsey Hussle’s murder. His death hit me hard. I was blessed to build with him a few times. We weren’t close. I don’t even know if he would remember me. I appreciated some of his music, but the diehard fandom was reserved for my daughters. I’m originally from Oakland, a 20+ year transplant to the Crenshaw District. Maybe it’s the “Tupac of my generation,” assertion that resonates with me (even though there only ever will be one ‘Pac). Something about Nipsey’s spirit, his vision, his work, loomed large, and his murder was the theft, not only of his life, but of the collective soul of my people.
I learned of Nipsey’s death almost immediately—a…
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