l. a. p. d.

Among the many lessons learned this week, I now know that it does not take any cruel or cold human being to attempt to kill another person. I saw a man's stomach with two stab punctures in it. I looked at the face of the man who made those wounds and tried to make more: rough shaven, his eyes a little sunken from age and probably from all the days he's lived as a shop owner down in south los angeles, short and stocky, a quiet older man with the work ethic of a Latin American immigrant calloused in his hands.

In the city the space is so small and we can not resolve ourselves with everyone else, and people go crazy, people with small folding knives go crazy because a man has yelled at his wife or called her bad names.

Partly I understand. But the craziness I don't understand. Trying to make a man dead I don't understand.