Murder on V Street

Death arrived at 4:45 this AM.

Last night I put myself to bed early and slept deeply, too deep to hear the pop-pop-pop of the shots that killed the 25 year old man as he ran in terror onto the stoop of his Baby Momma's house, at the intersection of V & 18th street SE.

His blood is still caked thick on the three cement steps outside of the house where he was murdered. About an hour ago the lady at the laundramat told me "they tore the meat out his head with the first two shots, and prolly a good thing he didn't make it in that building 'cos his girlfriend and his son would've been kill't too."

The front door is covered in ragged police tape and some sort of black powder next to the large brown stains of blood....meat?

It is the closest we've had to a real spring day in the District. Blue skies with just a mild chill of winter left in the breeze. He had just been released from jail last Wednesday, she told me. Had just called his brother and asked for "an application". Apparantly he wasn't any kind of major hustla, just as wrapped up in The Game as any young brotha in these parts may be. Just got out of jail a little while ago. "I don't judge these kids", she said, folding towels for drop service customers. He had no car. "Still on the bus", was how she put it "Nice boy. A little fat. No trouble at all..."

She warned me to keep my mouth shut and keep walking. "Tinted windows? Bad news. And when I sees 'em, I get the fuck away."

On the corner of 16th and V, (see pic of abandoned house below), near the sign where the B2 stops to take passengers up to Minnesota Ave and beyond, folks were huddling and pointing up the street. The set that works the corner right near my house were in a deep cipher, none of the usual "How ya doin' green eyes?" today. They were smoking blunts in front of a black sedan, pumping Tupac's "It Ain't Easy", keeping vigil across the street from the killing spot. CRIME SCENE tape flapped limply from an overstuffed trash can that will not be picked up any time soon.

Three cars with tinted windows did a slow roll by the house. I kept my head down and walked up the hill dragging my suitcase of fresh laundry. Got home, unpacked my sons grey uniform pants and began to cry.