A friend had taken me out to dinner for my birthday in the Central West End on July 10th, and we were driving back to South City. It was already dark, as we had eaten late because I was giving a lecture at the Art Museum. As is common for me, I do not take the interstates because they are boring, and instead I like to take interesting streets. We were driving down Delmar approaching Grand in Midtown when we heard sirens. We waited as first a police car, a police SUV, and then an ambulance all flew by going north up Grand, their sirens wailing.
“Someone’s been shot,” I grimly realized.
We checked to make sure there were no emergency vehicles coming, and continued across Grand onto Franklin Avenue. Coming up on MLK Dr, I turned right, and saw flashing lights flying towards us. I pulled over to let them rush by, and they turned up Garrison. We continued up the street and turned on Compton to head back to my house.
I checked my phone, and yes, someone had just been gunned down a couple of blocks away from where we had driven a few minutes later. The motive for the murder was stupid and trivial, according to the news, as it usually is.