My familiarity with Buffalo’s demographics isn’t quite what it was when I was in school there 20 years ago. But I remember enough that when I first saw breaking news alerts of a mass shooting in the city and read that it happened on Jefferson Avenue, I knew it was us who’d been shot before even knowing it was us. Some streets in some neighborhoods in some cities are just where you will always find regular Black people, and Jefferson Avenue in Buffalo is one of them. “Regular” here is not a pejorative. Nor is it an implication that there’s such a thing as irregular Black people. Just a way to describe working-class people doing nothing but living their lives on a sunny Saturday. Sleeping in. Tending lawns. Walking pets. Washing cars. Watching nephews. Grilling meat. Sipping tea. Getting nails did. And maybe going to the grocery store too.

It’s this banality — the purposeful obliviousness of the assumed safety of minding your damn business — that Payton Gendron allegedly hoped and prepared for. The 10 people killed weren’t […]

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