It was a Tuesday. Just a regular, nothing Tuesday outside the Walgreens on Depot Street.
Gerald Toomey, 72, was waiting by the curb for his ride. His wheelchair was parked next to the bench. He had a bag of prescriptions in his lap and a faded Marine Corps cap on his head. He wasn’t bothering anyone. He never did.
The three kids came out of nowhere.
One of them – tall, maybe sixteen, backwards snapback – kicked the wheel first. Just a nudge. Testing.
Gerald gripped his armrests. “Hey now. Don’t do that.”
They laughed.
The second kid, shorter, hoodie pulled tight, grabbed the back handle and yanked it sideways. Gerald’s bag spilled. Pill bottles rolled across the pavement.
“Yo, look at him!” the third one howled. He was filming. Of course he was filming.
