Dylan looked over at Selma. "Why the hell doesn’t she say something?" he thought. Selma was squatting next to the body and indeed was quiet. She stared at the young mans face. Aside from the blood on the side of his head she was fixated at how handsome he was. No more than twenty, he had deep chocolate skin, a slightly narrow face and a strong, wide nose. His eyes and mouth were half open as if he were photographed mid sentence, his words and meaning forever a mystery.
"I wonder who killed him…", Selma said after some time. "Who knows", Dylan answered nervously. It suddenly dawned on him that the young man must have been killed a short time ago as the blood was still wet and he still looked as if he’d get up at any moment. "Look, we better get out of here", he said, "Someone’s bound to come by soon and we don’t need any hassles." Selma remained where she was unmoved. "Yea, in a sec", she answered. She wanted just a bit more time to look at the man’s face. She thought she might be the last stranger to see it with the compassion she felt.