William Chambers, a 23-year-old Black man from St. Louis, Missouri, is gone, and what remains in the space around his name is the kind of silence that hurts in a way people outside it rarely understand. The facts you have are spare—his name, his home, his age—and that spareness is its own kind of cruelty, because a life is never a handful of identifiers. A life is a voice and a rhythm and the private constellation of people who knew exactly how he laughed, how he got quiet when he was thinki
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