Part 1 of 3.

A week and a half ago, I was walking to work and a man asked me to spare him some change. We were in an alley, alone there in a silent sunny moment. I didn't meet his eye.

I walked into the school building, swam upstream against the throngs of students on the stairs and hit the classroom door just in time to see some of my kids making out against the back window. Her eyes were closed. His were open. He was looking outside, kissing her like she was only an excuse for him to stare out at the open world.

I wrote a lesson plan on the board and Leo broke the kiss. "Something happened outside," he said. "5-0 everywhere."

Aracely turned to look and her eyes went wide. "Don't say someone's dead," she said.

As we worked on her book report, talking about violence and heaven -- a heaven where people are not their race, class or gang affiliation -- more and more police cars gathered outside. Just below our window, an entire residential block had been cordoned off. When the helicopters started flying overhead, our faces were grim. Everyone in the classroom knew something was wrong.

We heard newsmen shouting questions, but couldn't make out the words. Leo leaned out the window and called out, "¿Qué tál?" No answer.

By the time our class was over, everything had cleared away. I walked back through the alley to my bus stop and half dreaded turning on the news when I got home.