I only met him once, but he seemed pretty cool. I was changing the radiator on my Jeep and he walked up asking me questions because he didn't know anything about cars. We talked for a little bit and he shook my black, grease-covered hand. One of the few who didn't sell drugs, kept his music down, and didn't see me as a threat to the apartment complex. Now there's a crime scene there today. I feel bad for his mom, since Mother's day was only yesterday, and it probably happened last night. Not sure if he got shot or what because I was at my friends house when it happened. Since I have lived there for the past two years there have been quite a few shootings, I've been burglarized while I was at church one time, and there were also vehicle break-ins and rapes. Anyways, whoever killed him hasn't been caught but the 12 gauge is going under my pillow and I'm showering with the Smith. This is ridiculous. The wrong people are the ones who always die.