J.M. Redmann

First Paragraph 

Blinding, blue, white. A spit of dark. Jarring, off and on. I stared at the police car parked half on the road-half off. The blinding, nauseating lights were better than looking at the woman on the ground.

Thirty minutes ago she had been alive.

The glare did nothing for the roiling in my stomach.

Thirty minutes ago I had been crossing Rampart Street, leaving the French Quarter to head back to my house in Tremé.