Friday night we heard someone getting killed on Macallister. I don't think I could even talk about it on my journal entry, as it was just too fucked up for words.
I had just walked into the room at Roni's when I heard a series of shots ring out. Semi-automatic, hand gun. You know, I know an awful lot about firearms for someone who hasn't actually fired such a weapon.
I walked to the window quickly, just in time to see the cockroaches scattering. Later, Gene (Roni's roomie) and myself argued about what it was we managed to see. As it turns out, we couldn't even agree on the number of shots fired...I thought 4, and he said no, definitely 5: Proving once again that the only thing worse than a crime with no witnesses is a crime WITH witnesses.
To the credit of the SFPD, there were no fewer than a dozen black and whites and paramedics within 10 minutes. The street was cordoned off, and even a hook and ladder...I have no idea why.
There was no ambulance.
Which is how I know it was a homicide. Someone was shot 5 (4?) times, and was killed. I heard someone dying Friday night, and it was just another regular event for the western addition. It reminded me of where I grew up, back in NYC...and even Long Island.
It's weird how blasé I felt about it. Even as our food was delivered and the delivery men asked what was happening, all I could say was "Some fool got himself capped."
We went to "The Man Who Wasn't There" last night. Without spoiling anything, it was definitely a treatise on the morality of passion (or lack of it) in one's life. For once I had THAT discussion with Roni in the morning, as opposed to late of night when it hurts her brain.
Still haven't had an actual voice conversation with Mom about the online chat. That's going to be interesting...
Feh...I'm going to go work on that letter. There has to be SOME way I can transmit this mood to a piece...