Violence in the slums

I awake at 5:35 a.m., restless. At 5:45 I give up on sleep and slip downstairs and put on some coffee. Through the deck door I muse at the sleeping city. Still there is no hint of sunrise. Suddenly I remember that I forgot to put out the trash. The truck could come any minute. Nevermind, I don't have that much trash, it can wait. I sit down with my coffee.

A bang from the front of the house is so loud that I expect to find a car wreck on my porch. Before I have time to reconsider, a computerized voice comes through a loudspeaker: "This is the Pittsburgh Police. We have a search warrant for [house# streetname]. Surrender the building!"

My first thought is there must be some mistake -- not to mention, how do I go about surrendering my house -- until I notice that the house# referenced by the loudspeaker doesn't quite match mine; it's off by 2. So actually they are after the house three feet to my left. I stand contemplating my wall as a few more bangs erupt from the other side , watching as a spectator at a soccer game to see if any bullets might venture into my kitchen.

In a moment the computerized voice, playing on repeat, is shut off. I venture to my front window. A big black windowless truck-van (all doors open, the ninjas fully deployed), a black SUV, and lots of cop cars fill the street. Cops in SWAT gear with assault rifles mill about.

I return to my breakfast, hoping that they go by the time I'm done because I aspire to leave on my bike for work without getting shot. Indeed. They are gone with the first rays of light.