Shoot, sorry! Got carried away. I mean we were drinking a warm Coors Light after our first softball win. We had 10 run ruled a team and walked off Randall's Island with our heads held high. A feat that is very rare when entering or exiting the former NYC landfill. Home to about 30 softball fields, abandoned factories and a mental hospital, there's not much to be happy about on the island. With the infrequent bus schedules, frequent crackheads and isolation from Manhattan, you sometimes feel as if you'll never get off Randall's ever again.
I've had a similar below conversation with Lynch while sitting in the dugout during a tough loss.
But, we made it off the island and everyone was excited. Lynch and I were reviewing our base hits and staring into the foreboding Spa-Ha night.
Then we heard it.
Boom, Boom, Boom!
We figured it was just a car backfiring and continued analyzing our victory. Then we heard screams. People scattered back and forth across the street about a block north of our apartment. Shots fired in Spanish Harlem!
About 10 cop cars rolled up with detectives and yellow caution tape. The deli owner below us (who honestly probably was the one who committed the murder) was being questioned at the scene of the crime.
We're not sure why there was a shooting or what the ultimate verdict was but c'mon Spanish Harlem. Stop the shooting. Stop the looting.
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