Young Blood
Monday, October 30th, 2006
The week I moved to Brooklyn, there was a shooting on my block. It happened right in front of Club Rockwell, apparently brought on by one disgruntled ejectee shooting another. I came upon the scene that night at the end of my walk home from the subway, finding the entire street lit up by flashing emergency vehicle lights, and a large, mostly bored-looking crowd milling around in front of the club. “What happened?” I asked a lady (who still had her martini-glass cocktail in hand out on the sidewalk.) “Some fool shot some other fool,” she said. “Is the guy dead?” I asked. “Nah,” she said, “just shot.”
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This morning I took Baci over to the farm that surrounds our property. I was throwing the ball for him with the 
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