This summer, I noticed a couple of interesting bootleg Obama t-shirts being sold by a guy in the parking lot down the street from our office. I stopped by to check them out and they were even large enough to fit me! So I ordered one up and the guy behind the folding table said he’d sell one to me, even though I was a Red Sox fan. My omnipresent Sox cap had given me away, but we had a nice discussion on why the Yankees suck so bad and whose fans were nastier to each other.
I love my Obama t-shirt and planned to wear it on Tuesday night while watching election returns and hopefully Wednesday too (to celebrate what seems to be building up to an Obama victory.) It will be a little bit bittersweet though. The guy who sold me the shirt was shot and killed on Wednesday night, inside the vacant house that he used to store his merchandise, mostly clothes.
The story is just another of the sad ones that pile up like cord wood in our neighborhood, this one just happens to intersect with me in a tiny way. I read in the paper that Nathaniel Jamison was my age and realized that many years ago both my wife and I used to work in the same insurance company with his ex-wife.
And he sold me my Obama t-shirt that I love. The one about hope. Damn.