It is night. Rain has fallen. A deserted plaza in some city somewhere, anywhere: abandoned buildings crowned with television antennae that used to bring The News to whomever used to live in such places that were perhaps once beautiful: their homes. The street and the plaza are torn up, three twisted traffic barriers, some paving stones, a ribbon of yellow police tape. Under a street lamp a girl child plays around the puddles on her bicycle, alone in her own world . She’s not aware yet of five men with guns behind her, but we can be certain that the men are aware of her.
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