The unspoken truth was that carrying so much care for the world was probably what sank him. We passed mugs of tea around, sharing stories about our dead activist friend, who was hungry to help others, who would have given anyone his shirt or shoes and was planning to travel to Syria to support the grassroots defense against ISIS. "Sorry your move-in party is a memorial," one housemate told me with a sad snort. The sun had long since set, and more people were showing up to be together while we mourned our friend Max, who had overdosed and died a few weeks prior. This past summer, when I was moving the last of my belongings into the house I currently live in, I paused setting things up to gather around a backyard fire with my new housemates. Sorrow and angry grief smacked my brain when I saw the work in the addiction-themed group show currently up at AXOM Gallery.
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