John Liggins was 20 years old, a Black man from St. Louis, Missouri, and the fact of his death sits heavy even in the barest outline. A young life ended before it had the chance to stretch into the years it was supposed to have, leaving behind a space that doesn’t get filled—only learned around. When someone that young is gone, it isn’t just one person who disappears; it’s the future versions of him, too. The man he might’ve become, the stories he would’ve told, the days that shouldâ
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