Manhunt

The helicopter swooped low in the sky, then banked, rose slightly, and hovered above the high school. Cop cars already blocked the roads, southbound and eastbound. A group of teenagers mingled on the grass between them, arriving too late to get to class. An hour before, two students raced down Olympic, swerving in and out of lanes. Screeching to a stop in front of the school, one of them pulled a gun and chased the others onto the campus. When they arrived, the officers began combing the schoolyard for the hidden students.

———

Over a bullhorn a cop instructed a man to drop his weapon. He had attempted robbery of a fast food restaurant, but companies don’t leave as much cash anymore, and the managers that had the keys to the safe were not on shift. He ran out to the road as the police rounded the corner. He placed the gun in his waistband and slid down an alley between apartment buildings as the whirring blades of a helicopter appeared overhead. The searchlight illuminated the dark alley as he removed the gun from his waistband and let it fall to the concrete.

No. 091

Stoppage

Traffic bottlenecked behind two empty cop cars and an abandoned SUV, hazards signalling the malfeasance at play. This forced cars to merge down to one lane at rush hour. A hundred feet farther, a third cop car sat in the parking lot of an apartment building. Four officers hung around the car chatting. Flashing police lights illuminated the slowly darkening street. 

No. 083

Comfort

A slender, short man wears a hoodie that covers his face. He walks with a crooked gait, nearly a limp, swaying side to side to keep his face hidden beneath the hood. The eyes scan over yards and fences. Neighbors post signs (“Throw package over fence.”) for this reason, though a fence is hardly a deterrent. A false sense of agency can bring comfort.

No. 069

Beware

Flyers reading “Beware” appeared in the neighborhood, on lamp posts, electrical boxes, and the bulletin board by the local grocer. They featured a candid photo, quite ugly, of a grizzled old man with a wiry beard. You could tell from his expression he maintained a nasty demeanor. They were difficult to avoid, their ugliness drawing you in, and the detailed story of the three goats he brought with him offering a bizarre peek into the neighborhood. 

He came into the grocer just before closing and grabbed a few bags of birdseed. The cashier recognized him from the flyers, but she did not know what she should do: call the police? Refuse to sell him the birdseed? She looked at the clock and saw the end of her shift and the five minute walk up the street to her home was mere minutes away. She quickly rang up the goods and avoided conversation. The wanted man carried the birdseed out the door and disappeared around the corner.

No. 064

Shoplifter

While inspecting a bundle of brussels sprouts, I heard a man raise his voice behind me. Whipping my head around, I saw the source: a man around my age, possibly younger, clutching at his backpack. The store security guard held onto the straps. An employee stood behind him.

“I told you, I don’t got shit in this backpack except the salad.” The security guard insisted he go through the backpack. The suspect repeated his phrase louder, so more people in the store could hear. Everyone now had their eyes on the altercation. Mine roamed to the pistol harnessed at the waist of the security guard.

The young man insisted there was nothing in his backpack, but tensions had grown too strong. To alleviate the situation, the security guard escorted him to an emergency exit. With permission, the suspect absconded with the salad. The emergency alarm kept ringing throughout the rest of the grocery store trip.

No. 053

Focus

To focus on a run, I’ll go without my glasses. Some may call this dangerous, but there’s a freedom in turning the world around me into passing blurs of pastel motion. The action turns meditative. Then, returning to stasis, I place the glasses on the bridge of my nose. In the corner of my eye a flash of movement. I turn my head—a neighbor leans against his balcony, blowing vape smoke into the air. His eyes are fixed on me, dripping sweat in the courtyard.

No. 040

Streams

For ambience, as they put it, my parents prefer to watch security camera live streams on YouTube. We had planned a family trip to the Florida Keys, and in anticipation, they watched, daily, the live footage of Duval Street. They knew which bars left their TVs on all night. They knew how often the public trash cans were emptied. It became a part of their routine to monitor the routine of a town and people they did not know.

No. 033