PROLOGUE: A KING DIES
A MODEST ONE-STORY BUNGALOW WITH WHITE SIDING AND BROWN BRICK..................
......exterior stands at 2300 Jackson Street, on the corner of West 23rd Avenue in the impoverished, dilapidated midtown of Gary, Indiana. The street got its name from the nineteenth-century American president-not, as you might think, from the pop superstar who spent his formative years there. The house at 2300 Jackson has two windows for eyes, a brick chimney for a hat, and a black iron screen door, meant to repel unwanted visitors, for a mouth.
On a summary afternoon, a week after Michael Jackson's untimely death from cardiac arrest on June 25, 2009,, vivid yellow police tape cordons off 2300 Jackson's exterior. Stuffed animals, charred seven-day-old candles, and well-wishers' handcrafted collages form a three-foot-deep moat. Jackson mourners have gathered on the front lawn, wandering around like shell-shocked zombies. A white-haired woman hums in a soulful wobble. A young girl holding a Michael Jackson poster weeps deep chest sobs, press against her mother's bosom. Two teenagers in baseball caps give wide-eyed interviews to a television reporter. Off in the distance a car radio comes into focus blasting?........to be continued