Like me?

The other day I told Brother Love's neighbor that Love had been killed.
Then she told me what happened to the kids in the squat.
I think we both had thought the other already knew, but we hadn't.
It was kind of like boxing, the double knockout...

We each went on our way, a whole new headful of  death.

I'm not sure where the squat was, but it was near-bye and I'd heard of it before.

The thing is, I probably didn't know any of the 8 people who died in the squat fire.
But I might, I might be like, oh, yeah, that guy, I've seen him on the corner.
And I sure don't know to what extent the chain leads back to me, friends of friends...
Obviously things like this ripple.

There was this night I had my head out the window, jabbering with and throwing oranges to this banjo player and his 2 pals. We were not friends, but it was fun, and they could be burned up, or more likely, just elsewhere, or not, since I probably wouldn't recognize them if I saw them again.

Of course it's always proximity that determines how much impact a tragedy has.

Even if you don't know the victims, you ask yourself, were these people "like" me?
Which is kind of an offensive concept, even if it's pretty universal.

I asked myself if I'm stupid enough to light a fire indoors...
It didn't take long to tally up a list of equally stupid things I've done that good luck saved me from.

Would I choose that lifestyle?
I'd take that before anything that resembled 9-5.
It's pretty much how I was living my first week in New Orleans.

Like me?

Who isn't like me?