Blood stained streets

Waiting in the office for something to happen. Phones ring and the shuffling sounds of paper and computers surround my desk. The crackle and blips of the police scanner go on and off.

"I guess there was a shooting," says one of my editors from across the room. My ears perk up. "Down on MLK and Myrtle."

"You want me to go down there and check it out?" I ask.

"You have any other assignments right now?"

"No."

"Sure," she says cooly. "Go ahead and see if you can get a real estate shot in case we run anything. But you probably won't find anyone to talk to you."

It is common knowledge that this part of Jersey City is not the nicest part of town. Shootings are quite regular, and most people tend to avoid going there. Even the police. I show up and park.

It is the oddest thing searching for the evidence of violence. Like looking for the manifestation of evil. Such an impalpable concept, but very real. Hate and anger are intangible emotions, but put into the vessels of humans, they have very real consequences, right there on the sidewalk.

Looking down I find the evidence of a 19-year-old boy who was shot in the leg. His blood is gently spilled across the pavement and fall leaves. There is not a lot of blood, which is good because that probably means he didn't have any major arteries hit, and that my picture will pass the "Cheerio Test." That is the test where an editor must make sure not to offend a reader while they wake up to Cheerios and the paper. Anything to graphic might offend one while stuffing down a heart healthy meal.

I take a few photos of an EMTs plastic glove left behind and the red spots around it. And than I realize that that's it-- no police tape, no flashing lights, no uniforms. Just one plastic glove and blood.

A few guys in a car pull up behind me and I say hello.

"I don't know nuthin'!" one of them yells as they drive on past. I figured it would be best not to point out that I didn't ask a question.

A few neighbors are on cell phones, so I go over and ask. They tell me they heard the shot and the kid screaming for help. They saw an EMT pick, patch him up and take him off to the hospital, but they never saw a police unit come. I take down some notes because I figure that's a pretty damn important detail.

Coming back, I file my photos and ask about the caption. I want to include the details about neighbors never seeing a police unit come on by, but my editors decide against it. We can't really verify if they came or did not, as I showed up about thirty five minutes after the shooting.

It feels like circumstances that are "common knowledge" in this part of town. It feels like putting up a civilians word to the police's. It feels wrong.