I write at Mason & Geary. A shooting. Yellow tape. The boys in blue ponder. A few nights ago I heard, "No, Don't Shoot!" Then bap bap bap bap bap. I live at Ellis & Taylor and have for ten years. Blue Lights Flash. Red Lights Flash. Tourists are confused. The officer on Mason street says "something happened". "Something," & I'm sure nothing will get reported in the news. A cold clammy lingering frustration sets in... Officers, youthful and over-confident, search with flashlights. A woman in sandals, bare legs showing, with a faded T-shirt talks on the phone. Yellow tape flutters in the cold San Francisco summer breeze. I live three blocks away and am hungry and cold, yet I write instead of going home, warming up, and eating. Why? Perhaps I think my feelings of anger & frustration will dissipate through ink and paper.