murder

There was a murder five blocks from the studio today, which led to a police shootout, which yielded several on-the-loose suspects, and closed down the neighborhood. News helicopters circled all afternoon, and opening up the front door, I could count four or five of them, their humming coming through the walls of the lounge where I sat listening to bass being tracked, making cup after cup of tea, and pacing, making phone calls, trying not to think too much.

On the lounge TV, perpetually on the news, I saw again and again the faces of Clinton and Obama and McCain, the missile and the satellite exploding, the flames about the US Embassy in Belgrade, and now and again, ariel shots of the surrounding area.

All day, I would walk in the room with these images flashing on the screen, and I had been sitting there while just a few blocks away a man had been shot down.