But that was a long time ago. The state is going to kill Dylann Roof, and my desire for his death has long passed. I don’t want him to die unless he can, somehow, carry the insidious spirit of his motivations, which rest deep inside of America’s architecture. Everything else feels like the cruel theater of revolving death, which the death penalty often falls into. But I knew what it felt like, for a moment, to wish for a death to cash in on. To want a body as sacrifice, something to help dull the noise, to even a score that could never be evened. I glimpsed, for a small moment, what it must be
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