I was reading a true story of a man in early 1920s Belfast. After work, he was hurrying to catch an evening variety show at a theatre and was caught in crossfire between two rival factions. He was killed.
All died while doing ordinary things,
rushing to catch the evening show,
crossing the street to a pub,
waiting at a bus stop,
riding a bike in a country lane,
taking in milk bottles from the front step,
playing football in the park,
watching a horse race,
lining up a shot on a fairway,
travelling to work,
kissing a sweetheart goodnight.....
All died doing ordinary things,
all the rhyme and reason of life haywire,
caught in the crossfire.