Back in college, I worked at a restaurant in a bad part of Jacksonville. Of course, if you've ever been there, most of Jacksonville is "the bad part," except for a few acres in the Baymeadows area.

Anyhow, we had this really rowdy redneck bar next door. One night, two locals had gotten more than a little inebriated at this bar and got thrown out.

The bar and restaurant closed at the same time. The two angry men had gone home and gotten a pistol.

OK, this is where it all comes together...

Ten minutes after closing, the assistant manager and I were walking to our cars across the street when a car pulled up in front of our restaurant and opened fire with a pistol, taking out several storefront windows and then speeding off. My boss and I, who were safely across the street, just stared in disbelief for a minute. When things looked safe, we went back and checked the damage. A leather jacket that I had at the time had been hanging next to the front door, and it now had a nice clean bullet-hole through the left lapel.

Two days later, the radio station at which I worked got a single by the Chills called, "I Love My Leather Jacket," which is about a gift a dead friend left behind.

I still have that 45 (the record, not the gun!), and I have to wonder if there's poetry in this somewhere.