Originally, this entry of Grand Inquisitor was going to be about freedom of expression, and the unceremonious cancellation of a TV show which poke fun of God. Guess that tonight, God chose to poke fun of us. I went to catch my friends in the band Soul Atrophy play a show at Fletcher's on Eastern Avenue: The show was excellent--the bands Downtime, Cloudbreak and Soul Atrophy gave strong performances even though the crowd in attendance wasn't more than 30 people. I even had my eye on a girl--a cute, frizzy-haired redhead. But I didn't make my move, lost yet another chance at what could've been, let it slip away. It didn't seem much a loss. So many women come and go thru one's life. The night was still very satisfactory.

     Band members were packing their instruments away. Most who attended had gone home. It was 1:30 AM and the bars on Fells Point were closing down; half-drunken young men and women straggling on the streets on their way home. I was climbing the steel steps which lead to Fletcher's when I saw several police cars give chase. A robbery perhaps. Maybe a fight had broken out outside one of the bars. No sooner I saw these cars I heard a loud thump come from half a block ahead. It was a sudden impact, very heavy sounding. I looked up to see a cop stop in the middle of Eastern Avenue, lights flashing. It took me several seconds to figure out what the conmotion had been--The cop had hit someone on the road.

     When these things happen, it's strange, but one's first reaction is a sickening sense of excitement--something had happen and one had been witness. I told several people that I thought the cop car had hit someone. From the top of the stairs I saw a momentous drama unfold like the best action frames from an action film. A group of people rushes to person who had been hit--I couldn't make if the person was a he or a she. Several cop cars immediately swerved around the corners to block the scene off. It all seemed so sudden, almost as if the other police cars had a premonitory sense of what had happened. Some of my friends rushed down the street to see. I didn't run there--I fought that shameless sense of morbid curiosity and watched from the steel steps.

     Several moments later, I saw my friend Big Rob come back. He walked out of the sealed off area and had a chance to see the consequences of the accident up close before the cops demarked the area of evidence.

     Big Rob said to me: "She's fuckin' dead. I got there up close and she's dead. I said a prayer for her. She's dead."

     The police car who had killed her was just a few feet from me. There were some scratches on the hood. The sideview mirror had been smashed off and there was a huge impact on the front windshield. No blood I saw. No blood.

     I couldn't see much of her. All I could see was a lump on the road. The EMS vehicle arrived but there was no attempt at aiding the victim. One of the cops came over with a canvas and covered the body. She was killed instantly.

     Everybody gathered behind the yellow No Tresspassing tape and just muled around, gawking at the scene. One of the guys which had been at the show minutes earlier was yelling at one of the cops. The cop told him: "Get away or I will arrest you." Jim, this guy's name was, walked away, on the meanwhile letting out a tirade of angry, insulting dialogue: "Fucking pig. Driving down the street and don't give a fuck how you're driving or who you hit..."

     Minutes passed. More cops arrived. Two ambulances showed. No TV crews. Big Rob told me the girl's boyfriend was hysterical and had to be dragged away. The man had held the girl's hand and had asked if anyone knew CPR. The girl must have been barely 21. Her belongings were sprawled on the street still. A girl named Amanda said her body was contorted, her lower half twisted around like a piece of licorice.

     Still we stood around. Waiting. Thinking. There was no mystery. We knew what happened. It was no matter whose fault was it. The girl could have probably stumbled on the road drunken. The cop could have been speeding and just saw her a second too late. It was over and done.

     Eventually I went home. Big Rob said something about her having gone to a better place. I tried to convey my thoughts. There were too many--What happens after? Did she go to a better place? Did she go into a great Nothingness? Rob wasn't in the mood to argue the afterlife, neither was my friend Mark, who simply said "I don't know" when I asked him what did he think happened after you died.

     I cried on the ride home. For the girl. For myself. Probably for everyone. I thought about the redhead that got away. There will be many more than her. And what kind of wonder is Life, that is so miraculous yet so fragile and finite.

     Death is the price we pay for living. And I'm reminded by this anonymous tragedy that every moment of this phenomena called existence is unimaginably precious. When that final, sudden fate comes may you have lived your most and regretted the least. I don't I'll let any more redheads get away. Now I go on, to sleep. When the sun rises, to live.