It was a single shot and it was loud as fuck. There's a breezeway that echoes and amplifies and makes a dog bark sound like a shotgun blast, so a real gun sounded like a stick of dynamite. It sounded like it was right outside the door.
I looked through the looker, waited a minute and then cautiously opened the door. I didn't hear anything so I peered around the corner and down the breezeway and didn't see anything. I walked to the end of the breezeway and looked around the parking lot but it was quiet. I didn't see anything but I did find what must've been the casing, because it hadn't been there earlier in the evening. It was still warm. Good stuff. Of course I kept it as a souvenir. I love things like that. Fuck, I could make it into a necklace, with drain-stopper chain, and be all 'Hood.
The cops only showed up two of the times. Maybe they're a bit jaded too. The last shot was so loud that I'm surprised none of the neighbors called them but I suppose they're jaded also, and probably way more than I am. They came when I heard the shot that either came from downstairs or right out back, although they didn't get closer than half a block from where it was and they didn't get out of their car. The time I heard an obvious shootout, two different-caliber guns, that happened less than two blocks away, they swarmed the place, but the other times they didn't even send one car. I guess gunfire is old news before it happens around here.
Now I can't even remember if it happened two weeks ago or a month ago. In three years I've gotten used to gunfire, sort of. So many people would laugh and say I've lived a sheltered life and that may be true, but when it comes to gunfire, especially within 150' of me, I say "Gimme shelter." Fuck this.
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