Seriously: Chicagoist: Summer Gun Violence.
WTF?!?
Enough!
Chill, mutherfuckers, chill!
Showing posts with label shooting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shooting. Show all posts
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
At least I only got mugged...
Some poor guy just got shot in the street, across from bedroom window. And, once again, I thought the shots were M-80s. Two rang out in rapid succession, followed by around five to seven in a slower, steadier pace.
A couple of days after this, I ran into the HHUN (who moved) at The Bank; she said she knew this guy. He got hit in the neck, and is now paralyzed from the neck/top of the chest down.
Jesus! Seriously; at least I only got mugged!!!
Two detectives in black bullet-proof vests and jeans found two guns in an alley 3 houses west of the shooting. At least, those won't fall into another asshole's hands or be found by some little kid. I don't know if they had any real leads, but it felt like a lot of people called right after it happened; four police cars showed up just at the moment 911 answered my call. No matter what people say, the police have always arrived quickly the 3 or four times I've called them about something.
The silver (albeit oh-so-shallow of me)-lining is: I met another Hottie Hispanic woman (HHUN #2) from the next building over as my neighbors and I gawked the scene.
Yo! (Former) Complex Carrie! You know Rachael S.?????
Okay, people, take care, and keep for heads down!
A couple of days after this, I ran into the HHUN (who moved) at The Bank; she said she knew this guy. He got hit in the neck, and is now paralyzed from the neck/top of the chest down.
Jesus! Seriously; at least I only got mugged!!!
Two detectives in black bullet-proof vests and jeans found two guns in an alley 3 houses west of the shooting. At least, those won't fall into another asshole's hands or be found by some little kid. I don't know if they had any real leads, but it felt like a lot of people called right after it happened; four police cars showed up just at the moment 911 answered my call. No matter what people say, the police have always arrived quickly the 3 or four times I've called them about something.
The silver (albeit oh-so-shallow of me)-lining is: I met another Hottie Hispanic woman (HHUN #2) from the next building over as my neighbors and I gawked the scene.
Yo! (Former) Complex Carrie! You know Rachael S.?????
Okay, people, take care, and keep for heads down!
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Summer Heats Up Neighborhood, Part II
I'm in a couple of those moments at The Bank where you find yourself taking a stand. I'm trying to argue points and define my position, and I suddenly find myself in a meeting in The Gopher Hole with my two top management team, Harley A and The Castro.
I don't do well in these kinds of positions: my lips tremble, I lose my train of thought, my arguments get out of focus, I lean toward arguing The Big Picture instead of sticking to the details at hand, and I sound emotional. Throw on the fact that I was aware of the meeting until an hour or so ahead of time (plenty of time to prepare while running around and babysitting the bankers, no?) and I'd finished my fourth or fifth cup of coffee, and, according to Harley A (whom I find to not be a totally creditable source), I came across a little abstract and crazed.
I've been hiding out in The Hole for as much as possible and while continue to do so in the weeks ahead.
And then I come home, park the car, and step in dried paint on the sidewalk...do a double-take, and realize it's the blood from the other day. I'm strangely torn as I look down at the splattery oddly V-shaped smear of reddish-brown between total sadness and total apathy. In a way, this split of emotion makes me feel even worse...like I've lost something very important that makes up a "good person."
I walk to my back door, and say hello to my neighbor through their open door. They shout the usual, "Hi Neighbor!" (I don't think they know my real name after two years), and then proceed to tell me I just missed another shooting...6 shots this time compared to 3 last time.
Great.
Later that night, anesthetized with Jameson, I suddenly hear Hot Hispanic Upstairs Neighbor yelling for my direct neighbors. Through the kitchen window, both eavesdropping and later actual conversation with the mother, it turned out the 15 year old son had gotten stopped by detectives and they patted him down. I agreed with her shouting out at the neighborhood (and the lady has the volume of twenty Marshall Full stacks) that this was bullshit. Busting a 15 year old boy on the way to the store for ice cream, drug dealers all around (especially up on Birchwood and Wollcot by the school) and the cops gotta fuck with a little boy. And then she went the "if it was a white boy, this wouldn't have happened!" And as I normally don't like that kind of argument, in this case/neighborhood, I grudgedly admitted she was right. (Fresh! Remember when we were driving and the cops flashed the cop searchlight into the car at the stop sigh, then shut it off for no apparent reason? We laughed.."Ah, just a couple crackers, let 'em go."
And today, I look out the window, and there's a flickering blaze of blue flashing light up the other street. Five cop cruisers and two detective cars clogging up the street in front of that condo that always has an ambulance show up to it.
It's going to be a long ass summer isn't it?
I don't do well in these kinds of positions: my lips tremble, I lose my train of thought, my arguments get out of focus, I lean toward arguing The Big Picture instead of sticking to the details at hand, and I sound emotional. Throw on the fact that I was aware of the meeting until an hour or so ahead of time (plenty of time to prepare while running around and babysitting the bankers, no?) and I'd finished my fourth or fifth cup of coffee, and, according to Harley A (whom I find to not be a totally creditable source), I came across a little abstract and crazed.
I've been hiding out in The Hole for as much as possible and while continue to do so in the weeks ahead.
And then I come home, park the car, and step in dried paint on the sidewalk...do a double-take, and realize it's the blood from the other day. I'm strangely torn as I look down at the splattery oddly V-shaped smear of reddish-brown between total sadness and total apathy. In a way, this split of emotion makes me feel even worse...like I've lost something very important that makes up a "good person."
I walk to my back door, and say hello to my neighbor through their open door. They shout the usual, "Hi Neighbor!" (I don't think they know my real name after two years), and then proceed to tell me I just missed another shooting...6 shots this time compared to 3 last time.
Great.
Later that night, anesthetized with Jameson, I suddenly hear Hot Hispanic Upstairs Neighbor yelling for my direct neighbors. Through the kitchen window, both eavesdropping and later actual conversation with the mother, it turned out the 15 year old son had gotten stopped by detectives and they patted him down. I agreed with her shouting out at the neighborhood (and the lady has the volume of twenty Marshall Full stacks) that this was bullshit. Busting a 15 year old boy on the way to the store for ice cream, drug dealers all around (especially up on Birchwood and Wollcot by the school) and the cops gotta fuck with a little boy. And then she went the "if it was a white boy, this wouldn't have happened!" And as I normally don't like that kind of argument, in this case/neighborhood, I grudgedly admitted she was right. (Fresh! Remember when we were driving and the cops flashed the cop searchlight into the car at the stop sigh, then shut it off for no apparent reason? We laughed.."Ah, just a couple crackers, let 'em go."
And today, I look out the window, and there's a flickering blaze of blue flashing light up the other street. Five cop cruisers and two detective cars clogging up the street in front of that condo that always has an ambulance show up to it.
It's going to be a long ass summer isn't it?
Monday, May 14, 2007
Summer heats up neighborhood
What I thought were 3 M-80s outside my window, turned out to be a story I will may not be telling my parents.
They aren't big fans of the city-life as it is.
(Crawling to bed now, staying away from the windows)
They aren't big fans of the city-life as it is.
(Crawling to bed now, staying away from the windows)
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