The other night, Roc caught a stabbing. The entire scenario was ridiculous; a lover's quarrel gone the way of the knife...an apartment vestibule splattered with blood, on the floor, on the walls...blood everywhere.
As always, I asked him about the backstory; I am always intrigued by what transpires in the moments preceding the crime. As he told me, he shook his head repeatedly, and then sighed at the end of the story.
"That bad?" I asked.
"Yes and no. Do you want to know what really sticks in my head? The minute we were done with the crime scene, a woman scurried out of a ground floor apartment with a bucket and mop, and mopped up the blood in about three seconds flat. It was like it was no big deal; just another day in the 'hood."
"I guess it was." And I sighed along with him.