Yellow Paint

Recent events have had a bit more shock value than usual. Shootings, stranglings, flashings - All within a few block(to few mile) radius of our bubble. Speckling the otherwise smoothly pattern-esque splatters of sex, drugs, and power-play. The conspicuous specks are such because their inherent outsiderness. They behave differently, and as such, are suspicious. 

And from that, frightening. 

And from that, sensational.  

What to make of it? They taint the scene like any other splotch on a pristine canvas, yet they strike a different cord. They're outsiders.

The shooting. 

What shocked me is that the suspects are(were?) 18. An 18-year-old old was shot dead because his idea of a good time on a Saturday night is a car jacking. Thinking about the stupid shit my friends and I pulled in high school, car jacking just wasn't one of those choices. I guess we were pretty fortunate in that regard.

Sometimes I forget about the state of things outside of my little bubble, and then gun-toting teenagers storm the scene. What world do we live in? Well, I suppose it depends on your idea of a good time.

Then I remember this bubble is supplied with its narcotic of choice from boys in frat bedrooms, dorms left unlocked. The motivation? Just getting by, perhaps. Something to do. The cost-benefit analysis of getting ahead vs. getting caught.

Not so different, after all.