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Last night someone died outside my window.

I was reading my book, waiting to get lost and block out the sounds of thugs rapping, fighting and drinking in the street. Finally, I reached the point where all I could hear is the hhhhhrrrrrrmmmmmm of my refrigerator. I don't even remember falling off to sleep.

At 3:34, I remember because I always look at the clock first thing when I open my eyes, my building shook violently from an explosion in the street. I could feel how weakened my building had become. How the walls could come down at any second. I look over and see that there is light shining in through the cracks in my closet. In a state of confusion and panic I choose this as my escape route. It finally occurs to me that, in my confused state, I might be mistaking my closet for my window for my door.

A change of plan. I rip a pair of slacks from their hanger, I was naked up to this point, and begin leaping across my room and tugging and pulling them up my legs. Lights are flashing in through my window, shots are being fired. I can hear shouts and glass breaking across the street. With my slacks finally fastened I leap across the hallway into the bathroom. It's dark in here. And then the silence hits me. Quiet. Still. Nothing moves. As I creep back into my bedroom to investigate I almost expected my furniture to be panicking at their inability to flee. To look to me to help them out. But nothing. They just sit their. Like nothing happened. I take off my slacks, lie them over the back of the chair and sit at the foot of my bed for what seems like an hour but I'm sure is only a few minutes. Just sitting, holding my face in my hands. Waiting for my nerves to settle so that I can go back to sleep.