God, hes left as on aur oun.
Words—
I only ever really knew him through his words, but they were good ones: they were funny, they went on both wisely and too well about things like comics and Buffy, they stood up for small things; they suffered no fools gladly, but he’d occasionally let ’em take a fool around the block and back, and if sometimes they got outraged, it’s only because he was paying attention. He paid a lot of attention; you were going to learn something whenever you let him have his say, and there’s a lot of things in this world both little and big that are the better for it.
A moment of silence, please, for Aaron Hawkins.
—And then start making more noise than ever. He was the Uppity Negro, after all.
Commenting is closed for this article.
There needs to be a word for the awful feeling of tragedy and loss you get from discovering a really great site by learning that the guy who wrote it is now gone.
(Safe journey, Aaron Hawkins. I wish I'd known you while you were here; clearly the world is poorer without you. Ochón, ochón.)