Gentrification Not Yet Complete - Chapter 3,087

I'd been home maybe 20 seconds last night and still had my headphones when Bunter started freaking out and running the way he does when I pull out the vacuum cleaner or run the coffee grinder. I could hear some popping in the distance. "Oh, crap, they still have those damned fireworks," I grumbled and then heard yelling, screaming, squealing tires.

Egads, we've not had one of those in the 'hood in at least a couple of years. Barely 90 seconds later, there were 10-12 cop cars, an EMT vehicle, fire truck and the pest strips (not the actual ones) seen above. I really wasn't in the mood to play Brenda Starr at that moment. And that critical 20 seconds was going through my head, say if I'd not walked through the yellow light when crossing Harrison or if I'd been at the end not front of BART, where I might have been when the shooting started.

The cops that stood vigil and shined flashlights into my shrubs were actually pretty hot, not the usual chubby foot patrol dudes that you see for the more routine monitoring of our hallowed streets.

At least the old man across the street will now have some blood to hose off the sidewalks this morning and can feel useful.