Dear Wallace,

I'm sorry that you're dead.

I'm sorry that you're best friends in the world killed you over some bullshit. I'm sorry that D'Angelo didn't have the foresight to realize the terrible things that were going to happen to you. I'm sorry that the Baltimore Police Department refused to put you up in a proper witness protection program and instead, sent you down to the shore, unsupervised, to be with family members that hadn't seen you in 7 years. I'm sorry that the sound of crickets, of peace and quiet, drove you crazy and back to the Pit and West Baltimore. I'm sorry that West Baltimore is all you knew and felt comfortable knowing. I'm sorry that you never got a chance to go back to Edmonson and enroll yourself in the 9th grade.

I'm sorry that Bodie and Poot put the game over their friendship with you. I'm sorry that Bodie didn't realize soon enough that the soldiers in the game are just pawns and that you don't move up to a position of power - you just get used. I'm sorry that I ever liked Stringer Bell. I'm sorry that I never noticed how absolutely evil and manipulative he was when he called Bodie over to his car and asked him if he was ready to put in work. I'm sorry that the police found your body because someone had to leave an anonymous tip saying that an animal had died in a vacant. I'm sorry your mom didn't care about you enough to want to know where you were. I'm sorry I ever celebrated Bodie as a hero of the show and sorry that I felt bad for Poot when we found out he was working a 9 to 5 at Foot Locker. I'm sorry that when people talk about the kids in The Wire, they talk about Namond, Dukie, Michael and Randy and forget about you. I'm sorry that "Stop Snitching" was ever invented.

I'm sorry that you're dead.

1 comment:

EchoWhiskey said...

me too