Have never actually worried, before, when out and about in the world, even my own corner of the world, about my own safety. But the mother, sister, and I had to confer in the hallway at a quarter past the first hour of the morning over what sounded like an entire magazine of gunfire not more than a block away.
The mother looks at my window, curtain billowed out from the window fan, and admits that whether or not my second story window that faces an alley were closed and locked, or had a window fan fitted into it, does not measurable affect the way that a hypothetical magazine of gunfire going off in the vicinity would affect my safety.
Still, she doesn’t seem comforted. And still, though I think I know what I heard, no other sounds of crisis follow and it’s hard to feel like anything happened