As I walked home along Lonsdale Street, a police car went screaming past me, lights flailing, siren strident.

And I thought, oh shit.

I thought some more about this; I am a city dweller, I am not immune to sirens, but used to them. But this one hit me in the gut. Because a police siren can only mean bad news of the worst sort. Half the time I'm sure fire engines are called out to false alarms (like our building, which goes off every two months to keep us on our toes). Ambulances mean that help's on the way, right? But police only pull out the siren and the lights when something awful and violent has happened: a car accident, a hold-up, something that makes my gut twist like that.

The evening girl at work was held up last week. I think. I didn't quite catch the details. It's all making me distracted and jittery.

And vague. I know you noticed.