untitled.

i used to live on chicago avenue, at lake st.

before there was a midtown.

before anyone gave fuck.

we had a weight bench on our roof, above the porch.
we would lift out there just to make sure people would see, to prove weren't the huge marks of the neighborhood.

we also used to sit on that roof at night and chill out. it was oddly peaceful.

it wasn't quiet.

sunny's bar was loud, the number 5 bus went by every 5 minutes, sirens, cops...

but it was nice to just sit up there, watching the citys heartbeat from afar.
hear pieces of conversation as people passed below.

once i watched someone get shot in front of the vend-a-wash from that roof.

they were fine. it was a flesh wound.

that one wasn't so bad... but,

we did have someone die in our porch.
we didn't know him.

that didn't stop him from getting shot in our yard though. i saw it from my bedroom window.

an argument. some shoving. a gun. a shot.

the group of people that were there a took off. scattered.
gone.

i saw him take a few steps and fall.

he kind of rolled down our lawn onto the sidewalk. tried to get back on his feet...
that's when someone came running back.

...to kick the guy in the head 4 or 5 times, and take off again.

no shit. he pissed somebody off.

a few seconds later, someone else came back and helped the dude up, and over to our front door.

fantastic.

at this point i headed down stairs, total fucking chaos.
nobody had any fucking clue what to do.

the guy who was helping him did not want to stick around for the cops to show up.
we certianly didn't want the cops in our house.
but you can't really turn them away.
this guy is bleeding everywhere.

we laid the dude on a couch on our porch, and did what we could until the paramedics showed up.

chaos.

our whole front yard was a crime scene. yellow tape everywhere.

investigators quizzing us all for days. we didn't have much to say.
you can''t really.

eventually the newspaper told me he didn't make it.
it didn't mention his name.