4th September, 2017
It’s September 4th.
Or 4th of September, if you’re that-away inclined.
It’s a Monday.
And my day off: the last one I’m due, this week, at least.
So I’ve enough hours to be going on with, to be frank.
I do know that, this time last week? Was a bank holiday Monday. And getting to was tricky.
The trains? Had been replaced by a bus service.
That bus service was delayed: as part of Warley Hill had been blocked off.
Someone had been attacked: and seriously injured in a late night brawl.
Sadly? That person has since died of his injuries.
Right now?
My thoughts are going to his family.
My thoughts are calling the two young men who attacked him, last week, a pair of idiots: for getting drunk enough — unintentionally, no doubt — to kill.
Their bank holiday weekend has turned them into killers.
Frankly? We throw the phrase ‘murder on the streets,’ around with such ease.
And then?
Something happens on our street.
~≈§≈~
Hmmm …
That’s not quite what I intended to tell you about.
Well …
Actually, yes, I did: but what I wanted to tell you?
Was that the chap had got out of hospital, alive, well … and relatively hole.
Instead, I can’t.
Personally? All I can say is that I’ve picked up an impression over the years.
That many of the men and woman in UK prisons of murder, are there for near enough the same reasons.
They’ve gone out for the evening … had maybe one beer too many … got into an argument …
And found themselves, in the morning, in a police cell: being told they’d inflicted life changing, or life threatening, injuries on someone.
Any one of us could be the victim: or the killer.
Murder on the streets, eh?
~≈§≈~
At any rate?
Most of my day has been spent feeling thoughtful about that unnamed victim, and his death.
In between that, and basic house work?
I really wanted to catch some TV: to occupy my thoughts with something lighter.
For a given value of light, obviously.
~≈§≈~
