There was a drive-by shooting a block over last night.

I ate my last salmon quinoa patty and a piece of string cheese for dinner. The nice piece of salmon and salad greens are waiting patiently in my refrigerator for this evening.

Are the two related?

I don’t know, but I must admit I am unnerved by the shooting. There are more and more shootings all over the place it seems but this one came close to home and to beloved neighbors.

Several houses just behind me have bullet holes in their porches and walls. Our dear friend had a bullet go through her wall and break the glass of a beloved framed postcard.

Man, that’s close.

For those of you that don’t know my neighborhood, it’s an area of older homes, mostly owner occupied, some rentals, basically middle class if there is such a thing anymore. There are kids running around and people walking dogs, it’s not a spot where we normally get drive by shootings. And yet, here we are. Here in this neighborhood and across the country.

Ernie and I were sitting in the media room, no doubt watching an Australian Master Chef and we heard the popping sound. Ernie is always thinking he hears bullets so when he looked up, I said, “Fireworks, Ernie. FIREWORKS.” A short while later, our neighbor came over and recounted her story. The police found eleven casings.

I woke up this morning and wondered if it were a dream, but it wasn’t.


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