On the Edge of USC and Disaster
Around 10:30 PM last night, across the street from my new apartment, someone fired ten shots from a handgun. I'm going to hazard a guess that he neither shot them into the air nor at empty Bud Light bottles.
My previous apartment was a beautiful place, a turn of the century home recast as a dormitory by a fantastic couple who regularly treated tenants to meals of venison chili and fish tacos. It got a bit a expensive during my three years, so I decided to move to some place a bit cheaper upon graduation.
My new place is two blocks west of USC. I figured two blocks was close enough. Bigger place, a cool roommate, $100 saved every month on rent.
Last time I heard gunshots that close was during my senior year of high school when the Washington, DC elementary school I tutored kids at became the venue for a traditional drive-by shooting. Being there and being involved in the clean up (and that's all that needed to be done, thankfully) was crazy enough.
Here, I didn't see any cars, didn't see any people or guns. I heard their voices, though. Just enough to shake me up a bit. As close as the shooters were back when I was a student, that was ten miles away from where I called home.
My roommate reminded me: "One year. Just one year."
LA Times: The Homicide Blog
Map of LA homicides by week