Shots Fired
On the 30th, I woke up to the sound of a huge crowd of people. I groaned assuming it was around 4 and the Saturday night bar time crowd was heading home. I rolled over. The microwave said 5:31. Then gun shots - 5 of them.
The noise of the crowd continued for a second. Then a man with a middle eastern accent cried out, “Help me. Please, someone, help me.” I flew out of bed to peek out the window. There was barely a soul on the street. Miscellaneous things were spilling out the side door leading out of the diner, but no body, no blood.
Within thirty seconds there were eight blue and white NYPD squad cars in front of the diner on the corner. The cops got out and went inside. Within a few more seconds they went bolting back to their cars, and with lights on tore around the corner toward the river.
I waited and watched for a few minutes. No ambulance, only a few brief sirens. Inside, bus boys continued wiping down tables and repositioning salt shakers. The van parked on the corner continued to be unloaded into the diner.
After fifteen minutes the first wave of squad cars was replace with a second. No police tape, no evidence collectors or questioning. When I got up that morning, the diner continued to serve breakfast as usual. People milling everywhere like nothing had ever happened. I was baffled. I wanted to know what went on.
For a brief second I thought, if I were back home I could just call my grandma and she'd know every detail that passed over the police scanner and the grapevine. She'd know whose cousin it was that got shot, and why, and who was there to see it. She'd know who ran and where they hid. She'd know it all. Here, no one knows. No one cares.
Posted by Amanda at April 07, 2003 09:50 PM
