The first time I had to run for my life, I was 13 and new to the city. Young and naïve in Lexington, KY, I was hanging with new found friends watching boys play basketball at Castlewood Park when I heard… pop, pop, and a scream: “Someone is shooting!” I took off running toward the other side of the park, and terrified and scared, I reunited with my friends. At the age of fifteen and sixteen I started going to house parties and eventually nightclubs and more shootings followed me there. I would be on the dance floor, swaying my hips from side to side and then out of nowhere… crack, pop, pop… pow! And people would be ducking and dodging and running for the door. In college I truly expected to escape the violent episodes, but within my first semester of my freshman year at the University of Louisville (I later transferred to UK), I once again found myself dropping and then running for my life after a good time on the dance floor. This past weekend I followed Breaking News on Twitter of an...