The night was calm, unusually quiet for a big city. A light, crisp breeze rolled down the street. A perfect night, leaving us without a care. Suddenly the silence is broken, the sound of tires screeching on the asphalt. Smoke fills the air, as a black impala speeds around the corner. What felt like an eternity, was actually a second. Time started to speed back up. The shock was fading and the adrenaline kicking in. I turned to run when I felt a shove on my back, pushing me to the ground. One by one, three shots rang out. All direct hits. Joe, my best friend, took three to the chest. I turned over as his knees buckled and body collapsed. Just as quickly as it came, the impala is gone. Now silent, air polluted with the smell of gun powder. I lay on the sidewalk, holding Joe tight, trying to apply pressure on his wounds. Sirens blare at a distance, I know we don't have enough time. I look down as he takes his last breath. His face instantly turns pale, and his lips blue. He's gone. One final act saved my life, but took his own. A debt that can never be repaid. Those 30 seconds of hell will live with me for a lifetime.