ian

I heard what I thought was a gunshot.

In retrospect I’m hoping it wasn’t, but you can never be sure.

Summer night, about 7 or 8 o’clock, and a storm is brewing in the distance. Lightning strikes illuminate the sidewalk, I look down, see a spray-paint tag that reads, “LOV&”. Clever, I thought. Not the sign, but the way all these strange things seemed to be coinciding.

I mulled over the thought for a minute at least. The irony of the situation occurring to me on so many levels. The contrast between positive and negative, potential homicide and an attempt to unite a community, the beauty of the summer day being compromised by the oncoming threat of a downpour.

I wonder if anyone else realized the sense of dread I felt at that moment. The idea of a gunshot victim stuck in my head no matter how many reasons “why not” came out among the rabble of incoherence. The fear crippled me for a second; it was every bit agonizing as it was irrational.

And then it went away.

And that’s all I have to say about that.