I ordered some Hyde Park’s finest restaurant, Leona’s for lunch yesterday. The deliver guy got here and I recognized him immediately. I asked his name and he replied Marco. I instantly remembered him as (brace yourself) my-ex-best-friends-baby daddy’s- cousin. We chatted for a few minutes and then he dropped a bomb on me. He said, “You know Man-Man got killed, right?”
Before you ask, yes there was a grown man walking around still referring to himself as ManMan. His real name was Kenneth McCurty.
But I was legitimately shocked. We weren’t close or anything and I hadn’t seen him in few years. I went to Great America with him after my ex-bff’s prom and I’ve had several deep conversations with him. More importantly, I knew he had two kids that now have to grow up without a father because of the senseless violence in Chicago.
I’ll never understand why my brothers feel the need to gun each other down for no reason. They don’t understand that when that happens, that they’re actually killing a part of themselves.
I’m so tired of this shit,