Joey Warnecki: Eight Days

The first shot shattered the home's rear window and storm glass, plowed a furrow along the man's scalp and buried itself in the opposite wall. The second, without any obstruction to slow its velocity, tore through the wall and ended up in the bathroom medicine chest, where it nested between a bottle of aspirin and a toothbrush. The tall, thin man crumpled to the floor, unconscious, cold November air pouring over him like a waterfall through the broken window. It was a few minutes into a new day, two days before Thanksgiving.