It seemed to be a typical morning. I had slept peacefully in my cave of a casita on Wednesday night and right into Thursday morning, August 20, 2009. I arose around 8am, which is very early for me, had an apple, some watermelon and prepared for one of my twice weekly runs along nearby Lady Bird Lake  Trail. 

I opened my front door to be greeted by chirping birds and a cloudless sky. The neighbor dogs were elsewhere, so the peace was not shattered by their yapping and howling excitement upon seeing my biped self. Being August in Texas, it was quite muggy, and, though not yet 9am, already 90 degrees in the shade.

As I exited  the compound out the front gate, I saw the news van parked just down the block with its live broadcast mast erect. The thing must shoot some fifty feet above the roof of the van. I thought nothing of news being made on my street. I assumed it was another "East Austin is being gentrified" story. It was parked next to a couple of older homes undergoing MacMansion transformation, after all.  I told myself to check the Statesman web site when I got back to see what  was going on, just in case some real news had happened.

There was nothing unusual about my run or the psychic atmosphere along the trail. The lady with her two small dogs, a poodle that hobbled alongside her and a chihuahua she always carried, gave me her usual smiling greetings and  climatological comments which consisted mostly of laments about the severe lack of rain during the summer. The homeless woman who always occupies the concrete picnic table nearest where the trail goes under Interstate 35 was filling her dozens of pint size Ozarka bottles at a nearby drinking fountain on my way out, and  talking on her wooden block - it looks like a 7 inch cut from a 2x4 - cum cell phone on my return trip. The man with the matted hair  standing some 2 feet high was in his usual place by the turtle bridge as was  the fisherman with the well worn Chivas de Guadalajara cap and enormous gray beard. He never seems to fish, but only nap sitting upright on a park bench with his fishing rod propped up next to him. This morning his head was tilted back and his arms were wrapped tightly around his chest. I may have thought he was dead if not for his snoring which reached sonic levels.

When I got back home, the news van was gone. Everything seemed to be in its right place,  but the Statesman web site told me differently.

"East Austin shooting leaves one man dead and two injured," the headline declared.

The location was not just East Austin, and not just my street, but  my very block. The exact location was  just three houses down.

I never met Francisco Iruegas, but I must have seen him on more than one occasion. There are several groups of young men who hang out on Willow Street on most nights during the year when it's not raining or cold, drinking beer and chatting with their buddies until the wee hours of the morning. You'll even see some rather attractive young women with them from time to time. When I come home late, they are often spilled out into the street. They make enough room for the cars and other modes of transport to pass (I often ride my bicycle), then spill right back into the street as soon as  the interloper has gone by. They often give an apologetic wave or head  nod, and rarely fail to smile and wave  back if you offer your greeting first.

Iruegas, 24, was just a typical young guy on my street, hanging out with his buddies at 2:30am on Thursday night. The Statesman story mentions nothing of drinking, but I'd venture it is safe to say that at least one person in the group had had a beer or two. It is  doubtful that anyone was drunk. These are low key hang outs. A silver Honda pulled up in front of the house as the guys were standing in the yard. Iruegas thought it was a friend of his so he approached the car. However, it wasn't a friend. The driver's side window came down and a gun came out, shooting Iruegas at point blank range. Two of his buddies were also shot before the car sped away.

Iruegas died in the hospital later that morning. The other  two men survived.

The Austin Police Department's gang unit arrested  Daniel Joe Hernandez, 22, at his home in suburban Round Rock- some 15 miles away- the following day, charging him with one count of murder and two counts of aggravated assault. There has been no discussion of Hernandez's motive, or whether  Hernandez knew any of the men he shot. The assumption on our street is  that it was a senseless random killing with no motive, but the sake of killing someone. It may have been a gang initiation. A neighbor told me he wished Hernandez had  kept his gang ambitions in Round Rock.

Over the  next several days, cars jammed every available parking space along the 2300 block of Willow. Mourners poured in and out of the house at 2311. I could see teary embraces on the porch and on the lawn. During the day, men sat in chairs out on the lawn, most of them with a beer in their hand. They spoke in hushed tones. Occasionally, a burst of laughter would pierce through the pall.

At night, the men went inside.

When I've come home late the last couple of weeks, the groups of young men have been absent. Willow street has been eerily  empty.  I can see  the lights  shining brightly inside their houses, though. The party goes on, but it just isn't the same as  it was. The openness has closed. I tense up when a car passes at night. Is it another gunman looking for a random victim? It is  as though it was not only Iruegas' life that was tragically taken, but the life of the street as well. Unlike Iruegas though,  there is hope that the street can be resurrected. I keep looking for signs of life.