from my window on the 23rd floor

Though I don't sit in my New Orleans office anymore, life continues to happen there. My previous co-worker now occupies the space that I used to fill. Together we would often look out the window and discuss various activities happening below. Most frequently, police movement would attract our attention. She e-mailed me today to tell me that many people gathered in my office to watch as two body bags were carried from one of the Iberville Project's apartment doors.

Though I'm not there, I see it, and I know the scene exactly. I know the faces of the young men who may have been in each of those bags. I saw them each day as I entered and departed. I know that summer is worse for those who have no school, no job, no hope, nothing to fill their time except their disputes with one another. Anger at their world and at their resulting unhappiness - dealt with using terminal violence.