The street had been washed clean by yesterday's rain, but Friday is garbage day. Folks were pushing trash cans and recycling bins out to the curb, then happily hauling the empties back inside fences after the garbage trucks had passed on by, picking up what the trucks had left behind. A woman dressed in pink and black was walking with her dog. She stopped so that her dog might say hello to two larger dogs resting in the shade behind a wrought iron fence. The dogs were friends and always liked to poke their noses through the iron bars, just to sniff and say hello. Another woman with bare arms was pushing a stroller, her baby sound asleep. Young men in white t-shirts were talking outside the corner store.
And then some yahoo walked up to a twenty-year-old man and shot him. That young man never recovered; he died in less than hour across town in the hospital. The police had passed by only twenty minutes before the shooting, and when they returned again, the gunman had already left the scene. They have no suspect.
Tonight, the dogs on the block are barking. The moon is high in the sky. Someone is playing a radio maybe a little loud but the music is sweet. The bus passes by on schedule. Car doors slam, and gate hinges squeak. Somewhere, blocks to the north, a siren, and there above the pink house, in the blue black sky, a single star.
Rest in peace.