There was some neighborhood drama last night. We’d arrived home from our meeting with the realtor (yay!) and settled in to watch the PBS special on the Mormons. We heard what sounded like a semi air brake, so Mike peeked out the window. Instead of a semi, there was an ambulance and a fire truck almost directly in front of our house! He watched for a while, then saw a fireman pick up a motorcycle from the street, moving it to the sidewalk. At that point, we had to go outside to get a better view of the action.
A guy from down the street came over and asked if we’d seen what happened. We said no, and he filled us in. Apparently, the guy now off the motorcycle had been out in his front yard, just down the street, fighting loudly with his wife or girlfriend. Our witness says he ‘had her by the throat.’ Charming. Then he took off speeding on his bike, but didn’t get very far. Wrecked it. Apparently he went to the closest front door to get help. The family that lived there must have called 911 for him. They put a lawn chair on their front porch for him, probably smart to not let him inside their house. The wife/girlfriend drove up (from less than a block down the street, which made little sense to me), approached the crowd of emergency personnel and her husband/boyfriend, said a few words, ran back to her car covering her mouth, visibly upset. Eventually the guy was loaded onto a stretcher. We heard his head was cracked open, but he was still walking around when we first came outside. As they loaded the stretcher into the ambulance, the woman of the house came outside with a rag, wiping what I can only assume to be blood off her front door and doorbell.
I’m as ready to move as ever.