  I avoid getting shot... today We interrupt this news of personal trials to report on a completely over-the-top incident that I am not making up: a couple of hours ago, I was very close to being in the line of road rage/gang related gunfire. So I'm in the bike shop where I work, minding my own business, setting up some ill-conceived Shimano disc brakes (for those of you familiar with the bike industry, this term is probably redundant. I'd never seen it before today, but that sh*t's held together with a cotter pin smaller than what I would use to keep my hair out of my eyes.
Yeah, for brakes--the thing that's supposed to stop you and 20+ pounds of bike at whatever speed you happen to be hurtling along), with three of my co-workers. My workbench is in the back corner of the shop, against the wall of the building that faces the street. Jim was working next to me, in the corner of the building that looks out on both the street and the alley.
Greg (Sally) and Jimmy were at the next two benches, kind of in the middle of the shop. Evans Avenue, the street outside, is one of the main drags in southeast Denver, so it's very busy, and we frequently hear near-accidents and the occasional full-on accident. Today, about half an hour before quitting time (and during rush hour), we hear some serious high-speed tire squealing and an impact. I look out Jim's window and there's a car, doing a 360 and bouncing off the curb in the oncoming lane, narrowly avoiding an accident, and an SUV tearing along the other oncoming lane and screeching around the corner. Both cars speed off in opposite directions. The car that hit the curb comes within maybe a few feet of hitting the corner of the building as it speeds off.
Jim and Greg both think the impact we heard was a tire blowout, and they roll up the garage door and go outside to check it out. Jimmy says to me, "That wasn't a tire blowout, it was a gunshot. " Of all the people I know, Jimmy is the person I would trust most to know the difference, so I go outside and look on the ground where we saw the car bounce off the curb. Sure enough, there's a 9mm shell casing right on the sidewalk (what can I say? I'm a researcher: have hypothesis, seek evidence). I pick it up on the end of the Allen wrench that's still in my hand and take it inside. Jimmy confirms it's a 9mm and that it probably came from a crappy gun because the powder burns blow backward. The casing looks a little like a tiny, brassy, fouled sparkplug where the mixture's too rich. Needless to say, the last half an hour of the day was not all that productive--we mostly debriefed each other. We ultimately decided not to call the cops because everyone involved was so very, very long gone and we didn't get any license plate numbers or see any of the people or anything. We wouldn't have had anything solid to tell them, and Jimmy thought all they would do would be to give me a hard time for moving the casing. The cops didn't show up called by anyone else--probably nobody who heard the impact realized it wasn't a tire blowout. We wouldn't have if Jimmy hadn't known the difference. Our boss, the shop manager, brought us all ice cream sandwiches, which was nice.
A chilly treat was definitely in order. So that makes you think, you know? If that shot had been fired a few degrees before where it was in the 360, it would have come right through the window behind me. I would have been whacked by a stray bullet while setting up ill-conceived brakes, and that is not how I want to go.
I thought I'd hang onto the casing for a little while in case there is some kind of investigation and somebody wants it. If they don't, maybe I'll hang onto it as a reminder of how fleeting life is and how close we live to accidental death all the time. It's extra good to pet my cats tonight, and it'll be extra good to hug my husband when he gets home. 
