Tuesday night was a violent one in Toronto with multiple shootings. One man died. The police and news articles are calling him a man. He was 17-years-old. He lived across the street from us.
I did not know the boy, Patrick. Some of our children did though. They are the same age, went to the same primary school. Played together when they were younger. Crime hits home.
The young man had been dealt a hard life to begin with. His mother died when he was just five. His grandmother and grandfather raised him. Grandmother passed on a few years later.
The young man that died was taken to the hospital by his friends. He didn't have a chance, dying on the operating table.
A man is in custody in connection to the case but it's not clear if he is facing charges.
Not much is being written. Another shooting, another death. Life in the big city.
It's sad that at this point in Toronto that a few blips on the wires is all a teen gets when he dies by a bullet whizzing into his body. That a really nice kid doesn't garner more attention when his life is snuffed out at 17 before he's had a chance to grow up.
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