Now Playing: the sounds of phuture frequency with q the physicist
BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.
it was between 9:40 and 9:45 a.m. last night. i was brushing my daughter simone's teeth and getting her ready for bed. she was seated on my lap in the kitchen and i still had earplugs in my ears due to the fact that she was screaming her head off several minutes beforehand. the gun shots sounded like they were right in my back yard. if simone was startled, she didn't show it. she just sat there and let me brush her teeth.
my wife beth calls out from the bedroom. "jason?"
"were those what i think they were?"
i hesitated before answering. i didn't want it to be gunshots, either. i was hoping that garbage cans fell over in the back yard from the wind or something. " i honestly don't know."
within five minutes, the cops had blocked off our street and were searching for shell cases. beth initally thought that one of the kids downstairs had gotten their hands on a gun, but that wasn't the case. the shooting took place two houses down from us. someone fired four shots at the house (i could see where the bullets entered one of the windows this morning), jumped into a black BMW, and got the hell outta dodge.
when i dropped off simone at day care, the head provider called out to me from upstairs.
"WHO SHOT UP YOUR BLOCK LAST NIGHT???"
like i know who did it. all i know is this: our street has far too many kids for that to go on. kids can get into enough trouble by themselves; the last thing that they need is trouble looking for them...