Death and lightbulbs

I finally broke down and headed for the hardware store. In some stroke of Murphy's Law brilliance, the lights in the kitchen (2 of them) burned out within hours of each other, first one then the other. It was a week ago, and I'd had enough of doing dishes in the darkness.
I was walking up Cole and I could hear the faint sound of a siren. That might normally be a troubling sound, but in San Francisco, the block after block of Victorian houses create a system of canyons that carry and amplify loud sounds. If you hang around a residential street in the city, you're bound to hear a siren's wail near or far (if it's any consolation, it's usually a fire or medical vehicle instead of police cars).
As I began crossing Page street, I casually glanced up and saw flashing blue and red lights approaching in the distance. "A good 5 or 6 blocks away" I thought, to ease any anxiety I felt. My brain suddenly perked up when noticed the speed they were growing larger and louder. I finished crossing the street and froze, as I saw a late model sports car, fly through one four-way stop after another, and zip across the very place I was standing a few seconds earlier. The police car was a good couple hundred yards behind, but gaining.
As the two cars zoomed past, I couldn't help but think of the tremendous amount of destruction they possessed. High speed chase. Narrow, crowded streets. Busy Sunday afternoon. Innocent bystanders. Injuries. Lives changed in an instant, and forever. Death. Broken dreams.
A moment passed. Then I resumed walking, and thought about how I was going to hug Kay extra long when I got home.