Demetrius Harris, 35, was a Black man from St. Louis, Missouri, and his death left a space that can’t be measured in headlines or police language. A name like his isn’t supposed to end in a sentence that stops too soon, but it did, and the simple fact of it lands with a weight that feels larger the longer you sit with it.
What’s known here is painfully spare, the kind of “known” that still feels like not knowing. There is a person, and there is the end of that person’s life. T
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