Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Another Night. Another Drive By Shooting.

It was another night on Ashton, the street that a grew up on.

This is the place that was my personal refuge when the rest of the world seemed to go to hell.

This is the place with more memories per square inch than anywhere else on the planet.

Earlier this evening, I heard my neighbors across the street argue with two black men in their twenties. I heard them scream profanities at one another. I saw the two black men get into two cars and race away.

A few minutes later, they were back. The two cars paused for a moment halfway down the block. Somehow, I knew that they guys were up to no good as soon as they returned.

And then they gunned their engines.

I did some math in my head. The first car had to have past at close to 50 m.p.h., based on how fast he traveled that short distance.

The second car followed close behind. I saw the muzzle flash come from the driver's seat. I heard the gun shots.

It was another night in Detroit and there was another drive by shooting. Thankfully, the only thing that was hit was a vacant house. Amateur shooters are very good marksmen. They're even worse when they're driving past their target at 50 m.p.h.

The saddest part of it all was how quickly everything returned to normal. The neighbors across the street from me, the ones who were the targeted in this shooting, started talking about who it was that pulled the trigger. I went back inside because I didn't want to know what they were going do to him.

The street that holds more memories per square inch now hold one more.

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