24

As my flight from London neared Los Angeles yesterday afternoon, my first thought was how foggy it was (which was probably very disappointing to all the people coming from grey London to supposedly sunny SoCal).  And then, as we neared the ground, and people's phones came within reach of cell contact and pinged and burped, there was a collective intake of breath as people learned that Kobe Bryant had died in a helicopter crash earlier that day.

If I'd known that a downtown skyscraper would have been illuminated in Lakers purple, with a huge 24 on it (Bryant's jersey number), I'd have brought a telephoto lens with me: it was an act of civic homage.  Yes: I know Kobe Bryant had his problems - but he was increasingly involved, since his retirement, with women in sports, and one of the saddest things I've seen are pictures posted by members of our volleyball team posing with him (he came to several games - he knew Bob Lanier, whose daughter Khalia has been our star player for the last four seasons.  I was only able to take photos of him from behind, though ...)