Flashes punctuated their words, an external staccato that added to the confusion, to my nervousness, and probably made me look as guilty as I felt.

After each flash, an increasingly shrill sound would emanate from the camera as the flash recharged and my stomach felt even more sour.

“Do you think it’s racial?”

“Could be, but I don’t think so, there were some of Dark Cherry and Vanilla, Diet and even a Coke Classic, but you never know, maybe someone was angry that they were all together.”

“Wrong place, wrong time. Happens all the time.”

“Isn’t that a double negative?”

“What?”

“Wrong Place Wrong Time: wouldn’t that mean they were in the correct place? At least it’s not the un-right place.”

“Whatever, maunderer.”

“I think it can only be a verb.”

“Whatever.”

As they left, each was compelled to look back. As if one more look would make the scene believable, real, even plausible.