poppy writes:

Sunday Afternoon
Burst of machine gun fire around the corner. People are hollering at each other, hollering for the police. Sirens. Cars going the wrong way down our street. Somebody was shot at a second-line parade, maybe more than one person. The renters run to see what happened. We homeowners gather in our yards and on our porches, shaking our heads, hearts broken a little more. The ice cream truck comes by, but nobody wants any.