You know how there are some things you just can't tell your parents? Like when a fatal shooting happens just two blocks from your house? That is, two blocks from my house. On Tuesday.
I didn't hear the shots, but I saw the crime scene. Medical examiner van, a fleet of cop cars, investigators in suits standing around everywhere. The whole block wrapped in caution tape. Just when we thought we were safe. Mom? Dad? Are you reading this? (Here's where we find out if my parents actually follow my blog.)
Despite how this sounds, I really do live in a good area. I frequently have to slip through crowds of bums on the corner to get to my front door (protected by an immense wrought iron gate), and some nights I can hear the tormented cries of lifelong junkies through my bedroom window (also protected by wrought iron). Really, though, the Upper Haight is a pretty nice neighborhood. But a shooting? By Buena Vista Park with its expensive homes and their expensive views? This just didn't sound right.
Turns out, it was some criminal from Orange County who had somehow made his way up here in a stolen vehicle and managed to get himself shot by the police by running at them when they tried to arrest him. Pure coincidence that he ended up in my lovely corner of San Francisco, from what I can tell (see more here). So, Mom and Dad, not to worry. Let's just hope those folks down south can contain their suspected bank robbers from now on.
Speaking of foul play, the next night I was having dinner at a friend's place and saw this on their refrigerator:
I'm lucky that my parents don't worry too much; or if they do, I don't hear about it. And they're lucky that I keep my wits about me and don't do anything stupid. Speaking of stupid, I also found this on my friends' refrigerator:
And on that note, here's wishing you all a weekend with lots of beer and very few severed heads. Try not to get shot, either.