R.I.P. George

It was a gloomy friday in the month of November the 2nd, 2001. I was just 15 years old that time and was enjoying an evening at Cal Rec. playing billiards with some neighboring friends. It was a usual afternoon through evening day as any other, the intentions of getting home safe was not really an issue to be concerned with besides knowing the correct path to take when heading back home as the racial tensions between Asians and Hispanics were starting to peak again. Once a few of us left, we assumed the remaining party would be ok since they had bikes and we pushed wood through the urban concrete cracked surface streets and alleys. By the time we got back, I was in a frenzy to spark up a blunt and get my high on. At that moment, a half a dozen gunshots were let off in the radius of about 2 1/2 blocks from where I was. I quickly questioned an acquaintance next to me if he thought that would be one of our boys in the midst of puffing. In half hours time, my brothers' friend came franticaly explaining what he thought had happened since he was near the scene of when it occured. I then took in what appeared to be a dream in the wake of coming to disbelief and felt blank throughout the end of the ordeal. I couldn't shed a single tear when it came to the final viewing as it struck me vaguely on why not, but why so and what's really at hand as a whole.