Friends gone | Amy Denio

There was a surprisingly brutal killing spree in Seattle on 30 May, 2012. A man who'd been previously 86'd from the place entered Cafe Racer and ordered a coffee. The barista said he was not allowed there anymore, but would he like a coffee. The man said yes. The barista turned to get him a coffee, and the man wielded 2 guns. Shot the barista, and the 3 people at the bar. Twice. And disappeared. All of North Seattle was in lockdown from that. Schools barred shut, children inside. An hour later, another murder, this time near Town Hall (8th & Seneca). Woman killed, car stolen, body driven over. I just signed up for Twitter the evening before, so following the Feed, and listening to the radio I saw the killer's photo, and I heard he was now being sighted in my neighborhood. West Seattle. Kindly peninsula. At this moment, a swarm of helicopters swarmed overhead. I put my Zoom audio recorder on the front porch, and ran back inside our house, alone, locking the door. Playing accordion helped drown out the apocalyptic sounds of the helicopters. I made music for those friends departed then, and recorded it that evening, in shock. Days later, I filmed the late afternoon summer sun shining through our dirty kitchen window. Light. Our friends. Those who've gone.