Henry Lee's Killer
It’s a particularly unpleasant and bizarre feeling to spend the day confronted at every turn by pictures of the guy who killed your friend. Taking the subway to work this morning there he was across the aisle, posing arms raised with pistols in each hand, looking like an advertisement for a video game. He glared at me from the front page of every paper, from every news website. As I sat on the train coming back home in the evening, I stared down the barrel of his gun as a woman stood right in front of me reading a newspaper inches from my face. I couldn't help but wonder if this was the last thing Henry saw before he died. Still, so far I feel nothing towards his murderer. No anger, no hate, nothing. I guess all my emotional energy has been drained for now.