Last night, I lay awake replaying the day's headlines in my mind; in particular the news of fatal shootings of black men by police in both Tulsa, OK and Charlotte, NC. The kids were asleep, and my partner, who is black, was on his way home from his weekly basketball game. He was later than usual, and I slipped into a momentary panic, wondering if something was wrong. Was he pulled over while driving home? His tail light went out a while ago; did he ever get that fixed? Are his windows tinted too dark? Was he speeding to get home a little faster? I reminded myself that we live in LA, as if that could reassure me. But I recalled Ezell Ford, Donnell Thompson, and Brandon Glenn, just to name a few black men killed by police in Los Angeles in the last year.