Sadia Morrison was young, ambitious and on a fast track with dreams of success. On and afternoon this past June, She was found dead in the Bronx. The police ruled it as suicide. Six months later her friends and family still claim foul play. Why did the publicist, stylist and manager plunge to her death from a rooftop?
The best thing about Highbridge Gardens is the roof. Everything else — the 13 floors of dark and scary stairwells, a sardine-tin elevator that reeks of piss and the graffiti of a bandana-swathed stick-up kid spouting, “U know what this is! Now give it up!” — is the distilled poverty of South Bronx public housing. But step onto the roof’s gravel-covered surface, and feel the breeze. It whips up here. On the right, the glittering Harlem River, the metal of weekday traffic on the Major Deegan Expressway and the lush foliage of Highbridge Park. Pan left and Midtown Manhattan — 100 blocks south, past the lattice of water, steel and concrete — rises in the form of gauzy spires, distant and overwhelming. This is what Sadia Morrison saw before she fell, plummeting to her death on a Friday afternoon. She was 26. – BEN DETRICK
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