If Crime Pays, I Must Be a Lender

People keep asking, so I'll give the people what they want to hear: Walking home from Tom and Charles's place on Saturday night, someone fired a gun from a Volvo about a block from where I was standing. I know, I know, I've told these true tales of crime too often to believe them myself. But there I was, dropping toward the pavement and reaching for my phone and sort of awkwardly falling around to look at the car (which blew through a stop and hightailed out of Shaw), thinking to myself that it was anything but a gun, but I'm pretty sure that it was a gun, and the other guy down the block was also freaking out. Then I called Charles, who was nice enough to talk to me about continuity in the DC Comics universe until I had walked home. And then I called the police, who could give a shit, that is until they realized they'd already sent a car to the cross (Rhode Island and 10th or so), a gesture that they seemed to think was in itself like closing the case.

No more crime stories! If thugs want another post out of G.p, they're going to have to shoot me.