I’m trying out a new service called StoryTlr (embeded below) to retell the event in ‘real time’ as I Twittered it.

And this, coming a week after a super-high and drunk junky smashed his SUV into our neighbor’s parked car, totaling it. Ah, life.

Our house is across the street from a small park. Most of the time, I really enjoy this fact. I run there. I shoot hoops occasionally. I watch the people playing games. Our bedroom window has a vaulted view of the playground, and we often stand and watch the neighborhood energy.

However, once in a while, watching the park has a dark side. Like the other night when we watched two kids in the shadows, shooting up.

Or like last night.

Audrey and I were getting ready for bed. It’s about 1am. I happen to look out the window and notice commotion. Some screaming. A big group of young people scattering. A white SUV screeching to a halt, then gunning towards people. Then smashing into and through someone’s backyard fence adjacent to the park.

I’m not sure what’s going on. We watch, stunned. The SUV is snagged on the fence and is revving in reverse to get out. When it finally does, it squeals it’s tires and speeds away, barely missing a girl who presses herself up against a cinderblock wall to avoid being crushed.

The crowd reconvenes near that fence. It become clear that the SUV had intentionally run someone over. Smashed into them like a weapon. These idiot kids are picking that someone up by his limp shoulders and ankles, dragging him to the basketball court, under amber street lights. We think he’s dead. We call 911.

“Hello, 911.”

“Yeah, someone just got run over by a car near our house.”

“On Cedar and Lehigh? Yeah, we got it.” *click*

Okay. Minutes pass and no police show up. The crowd of older teenagers are screaming. More neighbors are coming to see what’s going on. The kids, circled around the boy on the ground, pick him up again. Two or three bigger boys drag him (he’s alive, but clearly barely conscious, he cannot walk) across the park and towards our house. I get a clear view of this kid as they cross under our window. He’s messed up. The kids drag him down the small side street.

“This is ridiculous. I’m calling 911 again. Why are they moving him when he is so hurt?”

“Hello, 911.”

“Yeah, someone just got run over by an SUV and the cops haven’t arrived and now some kids have dragged his barely concious body away from the crime scene.”

“Oh really? Well, he must have wanted to leave.”

“What?”

“Was he dead?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“What the? Are you emergency services or what? They just dragged a barely concious kid away from a crime scene!” My heart is racing and I’m getting agitated by the flipant tone of the 911 operator. Now I see police pull up the crime scene. They shine flashlights all around. Only neighbors are there anymore, the kids are gone.

“Do you want to give a statement?”

“Yes, please, I just witnessed the whole thing. But I’d really like the cops to find this kid and make sure he’s all right. They’ve all left the crime scene, dragging a semi-conscious kid with them.”

“Look, buddy, there’s nothing we can do about that. What’s your address, I’ll send the cops over to talk to you.”

And that was that. I went outside to wait. Nothing. Not a peep. No cops, no ambulance. Nothing.

So then Audrey and I went to bed. Shaken.

And I dreamed about mountains.