By Davy V.
There are certain events that are forever etched in our minds.
In our memories.
For me, two of those days is the day Tupac Shakur was shot.
And the day he died.
It's actually surprising, just how vivid that memory of that day is for me.
I was at a gas station, at the corner of East Ridge Rd. and Seneca Avenue in Rochester, New York, when I learned that Tupac Shakur had died.
Six days after he was shot in Las Vegas.
I was in my 20s.
Pretty much the same age as Tupac.
And being a true HIP-HOP fan ever since I first heard Sugarhill Gang's Rapper's Delight when I was just seven years old in Miami, Florida,
and a loyal Tupac fan, since his Digital Underground days, and later his 1991 debut album 2Pacolypse Now, I can honestly say that Tupac's passing was very hard for me personally.
As it was for millions of his fans worldwide.
And as I've been trying to keep up with the trial of Duane "Keefy D" Davis, a drug dealer and leader of the South Side Compton California Crips gang, I'm finding myself with a wide array of emotions.
First, again, remembering and in many ways reliving the day Tupac was shot, and the day he died.
And all the emotions that came with that.
Including the initial shock, that someone I was (and still am) a fan of, someone whose cassettes and CD's I would play on heavy rotation in my cars, boombox, and home stereos, had been critically wounded.
The emotions so strong, that 30 years later, they're still hard to describe.
Let alone write down.
Then, just six days later, finding out Tupac died, felt surreal.
And in many ways, three decades later, still does.
As with any real Tupac fan, his music was a part of the soundtrack to my early 20's.
I started writing this piece several days ago and then I couldn't continue.
Usually when I write a piece, I am in 'the zone'.
My thoughts, and my words, for the most part, flow pretty smoothly.
I love to write.
And while I don't consider myself a great writer, I enjoy it.
In many ways it's another outlet when it comes to my mental health.
Another vehicle for me to express myself.
But for some reason, after starting to write this piece, I hit a wall.
Professional writers call it writer's block.
So I left it for another day.
Well, that day is today.
I just watched the live verdict in the trial of Duane "Keefy D." Davis, the piece of shit, and empty shell of a man, who according to HIS OWN admissions, handed his nephew, Orlando "Baby Lane" Anderson the gun which Anderson shot Tupac with.
The piece of shit LOSER who for years profited off a book and countless interviews where he bragged about Tupac's murder, sat emotionless as the jury in Las Vegas found him GUILTY of first degree murder.
I am feeling all sorts of emotions right now.
Too many to even write exactly how I'm feeling.
For now, let me say this:
I feel a sort of closure and relief of knowing that finally, almost 30 years to the exact date that Tupac was shot, and such a beautiful, gifted, and talented soul was taken from this world, I feel a sense of closure that finally there's some justice for Tupac.
I do think there is at least one more individual that also needs to face justice in Tupac's murder.
But that's a piece for another day.
Duane "Keefy D" Davis looks at
jury after being found guilty
