Adonus Dixon, a 30-year-old Black man from Detroit, Michigan, was more than a name on a page or a face in a photograph; he was a son, a friend, and a piece of the city’s heartbeat. People who knew him remembered the way he made space for others, how he would stop to listen even when he was in a hurry, and how he carried himself with a quiet mix of resilience and weariness that comes from growing up in a place that can be both unforgiving and deeply beautiful. He was at an age where he stood be
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