Last night I watched a man die.

I heard the vvvvvrrrrr of a gunned motorcycle engine and saw an old man step off the curb with a shopping cart full of aluminum cans.

The worlds of motorcycle and shopping cart collided with a crack.

The homeless man landed hard in a twisted heap in front of a Subway sandwich shop. Blood gushed from his head onto the street.

The speeding crotch-rocket driver and his female passenger rolled like dolls into traffic and up onto a curb.

It happened so fast.

The driver and passenger got up and dusted themselves off to die another day. Witnesses pushed into the corner liquor store to die slowly, and walked back out to gawk at the spectacle of someone just gone.

I stood there, stunned, saying to myself, ‘Live life. Live life. Live life.”

It reminded me of a poem I received recently in ceremony. In fact, I call it “Ceremony”:

At night,
in the darkness,
we receive our instructions:

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