It is a warm, sunny day and you have decided to go to the park instead of hanging around your dark apartment in front of the computer. You put in your contacts, get dressed. Black jeans, blank tank top. Black let's-start-a-war combat boots. A tight, white, cowrie necklace. The chain bracelet around your right wrist doesn't come off. Wear a shirt or let them stare at your wounds? A loose, very dark green flannel shirt. Unbuttoned. Sunglasses.

Several little league teams are playing baseball out on the huge, flat athletic field called the Racing Green. It is bordered by an unused racing track of red clay. It is surrounded by tiered bleacher seats. Poured concrete. A relic from the sixties, now mostly crumbling and never used. Isolated individuals, picnicking couples, sit here and there. A elderly woman, primly dressed, walks her little dog. You take off the shirt, stretch out your arms, lean back on your hands, close your eyes, and let the bright spring sun warm your body.

You notice the far-off drone of a private aircraft. You open your eyes in curiosity and see it drifting leisurely across the clear blue sky. Someone jumps out of the plane. A parachutist? But no chute opens. You watch this person plunge to their death.

Pop Quiz!

The first thing that enters your mind is (pick one):

A)  I wonder what his name is?
B)  I hope he has a healthy liver. There's a shortage of available donors.
C)  Is he going to land on my car?!
D)  I need to get out more often.