Amidst street assist crossing chirps and occasional sirens echoing between the buildings on Carson Street, the cities mid afternoon ambiance was business as usual. Milo, a homeless shelter enthusiast was poking around in the sewer drain for riches; Johnny a maintenance man was unlocking a door fifteen floors above preparing to clean an empty loft and Richard Humphrey was barreling down Carson in a taxi making the real estate deal of his life. All three men unrelated until a snap, snap, pop, was heard that had all three men’s futures tied to it. Surprisingly no one on the street acknowledged the shots and some pedestrians even nonchalantly pulled their overcoats tighter to their shoulders before quickening their pace getting away. A Taxi driver saw the gun flashes and man slumped between street and curve and suggested to his fare they should go around the block before stopping. The fare deeply involved in twitter feeds and cell communications vehemently objected and added,” Shit happens, let me off here!” Bolting from the cab less than ten feet from a soon to be crime scene, Richard pushed through his destinations revolving doors in seconds, paying only brief attention to the man lying in the street. The driver stunned at even this level of complacency immediately notified his dispatch that a man was shot and gave his location. Once done he started to open his door when the back door of the cab suddenly opened and a voice yelled, “ you got no fare here; move on buddy.” Not looking back or acknowledging what the he had heard, he checked for oncoming traffic and promptly joined the row of taillights at the next light. In this neighborhood witnessing was like asking to become a victim and well he had a family to feed.