I expected one day to turn that corner and to have someone put a bullet through my head. The chain-link fence had green tarp around it shielding you from what was on the other side of the corner. I felt I was lucky, because for 12 years I turned that corner and no shot me, no one stabbed me. Even through horrible delusions where I imagined stalkers, no one attacked me.
He on the other hand wasn't so lucky. Drug deal gone wrong they said. He was shot in the stomach. Blood poured from his body while every one flinched at the sound of the .45 Magnum. He clutched his midsection and turned the corner. No one rushed to him, although it was broad daylight. Every one dreams of the chance of racing to rescue of someone in need, but the nightmare of the reality freezes all. Instead we all watched as he struggled, gasping for air. Some called the police frantically. Most of held our hands over our mouths.
He dropped face first into the concrete. He looked up once more and he was in front of a small church. That's where he would die. The EMS didn't show up for a while. They waited about fifteen minutes before covering his body. Even after a few weeks, the blood stain remains.