Behind Closed Doors

Murder is rare in my immediate neighborhood (I won’t say zip code
since Carroll Gardens and Red Hook are totally different beasts—it
looks like there were five 11231 murders in 2008).
It’s not something I generally watch out for considering aggressive
bikers, rowdy teens and sidewalk hogs are about as dangerous as it gets
(I guess double-wide strollers, lollygagging texters, long-leashed dogs
and oblivious handholding couples don’t technically qualify as
dangerous but I do spent a disproportionate amount of energy
maneuvering around them and that’s an enemy to my well-being).

But
when someone is killed nearby it seems to be a clandestine guy-guy date
gone bad. I guess two such cases in 18 months doesn’t make the crime an
epidemic but it still makes South Brooklyn homicidal rent boys seem
more common than I would’ve thought.

This weekend a radio personality was killed in his home four blocks up from me and such a scenario is suspected. The other case occurred a year-and-a-half ago and I don’t know if it was ever solved.

I do hate to say that the selfish part of me is reassured when I
hear a murder victim vaguely knew their assailant and that random
slashers aren’t on the loose. It’s creepy either way. I’ll just curb
any urges to invite strangers over for sex.