The New Yorker:

“What if, if a person wants to buy” a gun, a local deer hunter said, “you have to buy it in your home town? Because people in your town know how you are.”

By Rachel Monroe

The best place for arguing about politics over huge cups of ice and soda in Uvalde, Texas, is the Stripes gas station near the center of town. On Tuesday afternoon, Jesus Rodriguez, usually a regular, wasn’t there. Instead, he was at the town’s civic center with his family, waiting to see if his grandson had survived the deadliest school shooting since Sandy Hook.

The civic center was crowded with families, and quieter than you would’ve guessed, Rodriguez said. Every time a new bus of kids showed up, everyone held their breath until they saw who was on it. Midway through the afternoon, another bus came and Rodriguez’s grandson’s teacher got out, followed by a bunch of kids, but not his grandson. He steeled himself for horrific news. Then a border-patrol bus pulled up, and his grandson was the first one off. He told his family he’d been in the bathroom when he heard the shooting start and had become separated from his class. “He was walking around, like”—Rodriguez puffed his chest out, looking brave. Rodriguez’s relief was short-lived; a few hours later, he heard that his brother’s granddaughter was one of the victims.

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