I flinched. The gunshot was much louder than expected and launched a sharp echo careening off the ancient wood buildings that line main street in this craggy old town. I did not know the man who fell dead right before my eyes. Middle-aged, tall and sporting a dirty-white flowing beard, he dropped with a stunned, graceless kerplunk. And then another shot ripped through the quiet, and a second man lay sprawled on the asphalt face down in the dusty, sun-drenched afternoon. An awkward silence fell over the crowd of onlookers. No one called the police, no one interfered with righteous indignation. We just stood there, staring.

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