Flowers. Flags. Hugs and teddy bears. We've seen it before, you know.
We are Boston! Or so cried a nation with banners and black armbands and love. We were all Sandy Hook only four months ago. We were Aurora a few months before that.
From one who, at times, feels like a merchant of misery, it's easy to pick a pattern in America's collective tragedies.
I stood by a memorial in Boston this week: by the flowers, flags and teddy bears, the banners and candles and cards, and was disturbed by how familiar that sombre scene has become. The trinkets heaped upon each other, propped against a police fence. People prayed and spoke in whispers and the cellophane wrapping of resting bouquets flicked a little in the wind.
It reminded me of the makeshift memorials outside Sandy Hook last year. It was the same in Aurora, in July, after James Holmes took his gun to a movie theatre and sprayed it on a Friday night.