When ‘Pac got shot (for the second time), fans (like the 16 year old me), patiently waited for his return while tearing his discography apart for clues, grasping for unattainable straws of hope, worshipping at the desperate altar of denial. Denial was masked with intrigue, morbid curiosity supplanted logical thought, and no one wanted to admit Tupac was as dead as Kennedy.
Owing to human nature’s incapability to resist anything shrouded in mystery, the 1996 death of Tupac Shakur set off a colossal wave of paranoia. Review Summary: Exit 2Pac, Enter Makaveli.
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