Like We Would

The cops standing in front of the Indian restaurant on our street barely acknowledge us as we walk up. “What happened?” Katie asks, looking past them and over the crime scene tape blocking off the sidewalk.

“Some guy got stabbed,” one of them says, and sure enough we can see, in the light from the restaurant door, fresh blood on the pavement beside a small, primitive looking knife.

“Don’t touch the blood,” he adds, while another cop smirks and then, bored, looks away.