3

I was sitting in a breeze a few minutes ago buried in a book. Nausea by Sartre. I was somewhere around page one hundred and five when I heard a crash. I wasn't really all that phased by the crash, not even slightly, but then I heard yelling. A woman's voice. It was deep and authoritative. A security guard woman, maybe police officer. I looked up from page whatever and saw a man running like the world was crumbling behind him. He was being chased by police and by security guards with the woman still yelling, "He's got a gun! He's got a gun." The crowd reacted like a nest of lab mice and went silent and scared. Everyone who was sitting continued to sit still and those who were standing migrated into one group to see what was going on. A while after the culprit had turned behind a big brown office building and the shouts still echoed from the chase I sat on the park bench with only my book. Time to kill and my book, and nothing else.