As part of my research for our 30 Years, 30 Stories series, I lugged home the bound copies of our 1993 editions last night. I began perusing them while waiting for my train, and I was approached by a young man in a Stephon Marbury jersey and a DC cap.
Him: “What’s this?”
Me: “These are old issues of a newspaper I work for.”
Him: “You gonna write something about this?”
Me: “Yeah. It’s our 30th anniversary, so we’re writing stories about people we featured in each year of the paper’s existence.”
Him: “What they gotta do?”
Me: “Well, I just look for someone who I think might still be alive who might be interesting for us to catch up with and write a ‘where are they now’ story about.”
Him, after a moment of contemplation: “What about Tupac? You ever think about Tupac?”
Me, pointing at the name of the paper: “Well, they have to be from the Park Cities.”
Him: “Park Cities, huh? Well, I don’t know nothing about that.”
He then wandered off, leaving me to think about Tupac. Do I know for sure that he never lived in the Bubble? Oh, wait — he’s not alive.
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