Tonight I flipped through some new releases on Netflix and was quickly drawn to a title: Fruitvale Station. 

Having visited San Francisco for the first time only one week ago, and having passed through that station at least a half dozen times, the bulb of recognition immediately went off. I exclaimed to myself and in my dimly lit living room, “That must be in San Francisco!”. Only one week ago, the title would have meant nothing. Yet, it was familiar. 

Stories of rampant police misconduct are as familiar and fresh. Familial. I probably should not have watched that movie right before bed. I knew as much when I sat down to watch it two hours ago. Still, the hard truth is inconvenient. There is no good time for it. The truth never stops being true, just as injustice continues to be unjust, and in this case, present from start to finish. 
“Fruitvale”, even when I first heard it, struck me as quite an image rich and colorful name. Oakland, California – a place like so many others were colors matter – where blue and black seem to be a perilous combination.