Day-1– Sleeping Through Gunfire and Shrugged-Off Lives
Just 1 Night...
I’m curled up under this dirty old mattress outside—yeah, outside—because the only other option is open sky and no cover. The concrete is cold, the air’s colder, but not as cold as what came next.
Two cars creep by, music high, engines idling like something out of a movie. Then it starts—pop pop pop, rapid, deliberate. 9mm rounds crack through the silence like dry bones snapping. Then the deeper thud of .40 caliber. Showboating, they call it. I call it terror.
The bullets cut the air above me—I hear them whizz past, close enough to feel their hunger. I press my face into the dirt under the mattress, heart slamming in my chest, lungs frozen. I don’t know if this is it. I just know Im not going out on account of some idiots trying to be righteous.
Daylight comes like it always does. Calm after chaos. One cop shows up. One. He scans the area like he’s late for something better. I hand him eight shells I found—he shrugs, doesn’t even write a name down. No questions. No statement. Just a look like, “Well, you chose to be here.”
I didn’t choose this. I’m just surviving it. Dick!
And apparently, surviving doesn’t warrant paperwork.