I have lost count (well: if I kept track, which I’m not crazy enough to do, I would have lost it) of people who have broken up with their partner, been fired from their job, or had their friends stop talking to them, whatever it is, anything, for posting certain photos on Instagram; that is, for risking some good likes. Lies denied by themselves, who made intricate excuses only to then, thirsty for exhibition, upload or allow others to upload photos that ruined their strategy. Anyway, big mouths. Wanting to tell everything, even what harms you. (A kind reminder from an old friend, not a big mouth but too much of a fan, who after sleeping with a celebrity, couldn’t resist telling his wife, who was also a big fan, but turned out not to be so much). Whoever says “photos on Instagram” means telling someone, anyone: spreading a highly relevant secret that affects you just to brag about having been at such a festival (when you should be at work) or having had a date with such a person despite both being married; life is complicated and full of temptations, no need to make it even more complicated by telling it around. Of course, there is always someone who breaks the deck.
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This Monday Duane Davis was found guilty of first-degree murder for the death of rapper Tupac Shakur, shot in 1996. He could face life imprisonment. Tupac’s murder had no culprits until Davis, I suppose fed up, started spilling everything in interviews, podcasts, and even a book. He boasted of being the gang leader, of having the gun that killed Tupac and handing it to the actual shooter, of being in the car from which the rapper was killed. I can imagine his frustration seeing that everyone ignored him. The police finally had no choice but to arrest him. Davis must have been such a big mouth that his defense lawyer’s strategy was to counter his client’s version: saying he lies or exaggerates. Davis should now face two possibilities: life imprisonment for murder, or the death penalty for being a fool.
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