After our monthly American event of mass shooting by semi-automatic weapon, the “our thoughts and prayers are with the victims and their families” will roll out along with the blood, death, dismemberment and tweats.
Speculating on the motives of the killer is also a favorite sport.
The latest one, in Santa Monica, was purported to come from “a bitter divorce”. Which follows that life circumstances might conspire to produce evil.
Looking around, at family and friends, neighbors and people I know, anyone, anywhere could become the next serial killer.
Snippets and surface bios of people I hardly know:
• He lived with his mother, a gravely ill woman, and he had no job, smoked pot all day, and was rarely seen.
• He had an explosive temper, was unmarried at age 38, his backyard was full of dog shit, and he spoke out against corrupt cops.
• She was morbidly obese. Her husband had a bad temper and once ran out on her and didn’t call for three days.
• They were two lesbians living on the edge of poverty. She posted angry screeds online, railing against litter, crime and community indifference.
• He was 53-year-old and earned a living posing nude, but had once been a handsome young actor.
• There were people coming and going onto their property, which was littered with debris, and shopping carts.
• A 44-year-old man, he never spoke of any job he had, was secretive about his profession, and spent his days hiking and biking around the San Fernando Valley.
• He bragged about his guns and frequently lashed out against crime and prostitution in Van Nuys.
Every life, under a microscope, is weird.