I wouldn’t want to rub it in.
Instead, let me recount the surreal feeling of arriving to your own block after work in broad daylight on a Friday afternoon, and as you turn onto your street, noticing police cars and crime scene tape being strewn from tree to tree. I found my roommate sitting on the stoop, and she informed me that about 15 minutes before, she was awoken from a nap to two gunshots, and then the thunder of feet under her window along with shouts of we gotta get out of here! By the time I got there, the ambulance had already taken away the person who, according to neighbors, was shot in the stomach and had stumbled around the corner the way I was walking home.
The odd thing, among several odd things, is that I was supposed to be allowed to leave work about 20 minutes sooner, and didn’t. If I had, I’d have walked right into the confrontation. There were several other notable oddities: that the policewoman putting up yellow crime tape blocking off our street was the same woman who was first to arrive on the scene back in December, when not twenty feet from where I was standing, a woman got hit so hard by a truck that she flew through the air. I was the first person to her side, and I remember this blond policewoman kneeling in front of the bleeding victim as though her presence was all that was required.
And as we stood there watching our furrow-browed neighbors emerge into the sunlight, Kim got a text message from her friend David, hundred of miles away in
The world has felt on the verge of bursting lately. All kind of meaning lining up. All sorts of eccentricities emerging, and tempers exploding, and emotions going haywire. The city is full of sirens like I’ve never heard. It’s the best time to lasso a creative force and ride it til you can’t stand the saddle sores.