22 Shots

A few weeks back, I could not turn down my street here in Rochester, New York.  Initially, I didn’t know why. It’s a strange sensation that you have to give in to.

The road was blocked by police and paramedics. The scene was chaotic. I caught glimpses of neighbors with worried faces milling around watching the scene unfold. 

There is a vulnerability that comes with living that close to violence whether you and yours are involved or not. You wonder about your choices, your safety and what you can actually do about it all across a few seconds. 

I, like many others, simply continued about my day heading up the main thoroughfare past the store fronts, kids playing and gentrifiers, like myself, walking their dogs. 

I worked my way home down nearby streets. I came up the other end of my street to find my generally optimistic girlfriend disappointed and kinda worried. She learned from a neighbor that the corner of our street was the scene of a broad daylight shooting. 

The neighbors say 22 shots were fired at and from a car that smashed into a stop sign. To this day, the sign's metal lies twisted on the sidewalk near the welcome to the neighborhood sign.

I didn’t see the news or in the newspaper but residents in my city neighborhood won’t forget those 22 shots.

Long after the police and the paramedics and the tow trucks left and we’re left wondering what mayhem may follow.

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