Six years ago today my uncle was killed. I think about him all the time. My dad’s little brother. I remember thinking I was dreaming when the police were knocking. I remember crawling out of bed to listen through the crack in my door. I can’t even drive past his old shop or the intersection. Thinking about my uncle paul makes me think about watching that killer pretend to cry for my uncle while he insisted he didn’t remember anything. One year for murder, worse a murder he turned himself in for, but wouldn’t admit to. I guess I’m still angry.