Homicide Scene

I notice the signs of normalcy. I can see the palm fronds outside my balcony windows still swaying gracefully in the gentle breeze. I hear the workmen across the street, their drills and saws still humming, their hammers still making their sharp crack. And yet there it is. The husband lying utterly still on his kitchen floor in a pool of his blood; the naked floater brought out of the brackish bay onto the hard, cold concrete breakwater. I look across the bay to the merry Friday night partiers, their Christmas tree tail lights in a long ribbon, oblivious.