Two things become three, maybe four.

Last Friday, right around 4:15, I'm driving my group of kids up Albany Street and right near the corner of Craig and Albany on our right, the kids yell, "Look, a guy!"

And so, there he was lying in the alley on his back and his size 12s were sticking straight up. First things first, I took the kids to QUEST and called 911. On my next trip out, I see an ambulance and cops and the afore-said guy still lying on his back, but his hands are waving in the air. Drunk, we all decided, anyway not dead and life went on.

But less then 24 hours later at 8:30 a.m., on the corner of Craig and Albany, a death. This time a certainty. A brawl on a corner finished by a knife, which is somehow much more personal and terrifying than the impersonality of a gun. Now a 42-year-old man's life is over. Blood on the streets.

Fifth murder in Schenectady since Jan. 9, four by gunshot, one by stabbing. I watched the news and listened in total disbelief as the police information officer told the public that Craig is not a high crime area and that this was an unusual occurrence. Just the last two Fridays there have been occurrences at Stanley and Craig; police cars, crime tape, etc. Two in seven days that I saw.

There are cameras on the corner of Craig and Emmett. They should have been on and running during the stabbing; someone needs to inquire about footage. The people on the street pay those cameras no mind. When my car was broken into on that corner and the windows smashed, I was told, "Wrong angle, Ma'am. No picture." All of us at QUEST, on a beautiful spring afternoon, watched a deal go down in front of that little corner store on that corner -- Craig and Emmett, and the purchaser of the contraband stands directly in front of the camera, lifts her shirt, exposes her bare breast and did a little shimmy-shuffle for the same cameras. She then walked away laughing. No respect for those cameras.

This past week was not a good week. I watched the nightly news on Thursday and saw a face I knew well. Sixteen-year-old "D" arrested in Glens Falls by Warren County Police. I wonder how many other of our young boys are involved in this one?

I became increasingly concerned about D over the years. I went to his probation officer several times. I know D came from deep, deep poverty. I asked over and over, "How's he buying those clothes? Where are all those gold chains coming from? You don't buy diamonds with food stamps." I was pretty much told I was inappropriate and to back out. The last time I saw D, about six months ago, he came up to my car and said he wanted to talk to me. I locked all my doors and opened the windows to talk. I will never forget the dark look on his face. "What are you afraid of," he said. "It's me, it's D. I would never hurt you." I should have listened. I should have opened the door. I should have said, "Climb in. Let's go to McDonald's." The fact that I didn't will haunt me forever.

And now, there's maybe four. We just passed two police cars with lights flashing stopped on Albany and Swan; then on my way back, there were six cars and an ambulance and police on the street interviewing people and taking notes. I won't know until later and maybe never what happened. Imagine living in this neighborhood, or worse still, imagine growing up here. I pass by daily the new home-grown industry, buying gold and jewelery and electronics. A store on every block devoted to selling stuff form heists. Do not call me to say I'm being racist, you need a large daily turnover to stay in business, and Jenny's Chicken right next door to one of these cottage industries has gone under while good old A1 "we buy anything of value" is still going strong.

I mourn Jenny's passing. That's where I had my first-ever deep-fried Twinkie. I was immediately completely addicted and now I know not where to find another such concoction, and wander aimlessly trying to find my sugar, fat, cholesterol-laden favorite snack of all time.

And then, there's the couple running around Albany Street at 3 a.m. trying to sell an Xbox. And I wonder who's home with their 6- and 8-year-old. And why they need the money at 3 in the morning. And I just feel useless and helpless and old.

And then there's the woman who's going to jail today for kicking in someone's door and came looking for someone to meet her child's school bus (an 8-year-old boy we're talking about here) and to take her son for the night. "And then we'll go from there," she kept saying. "I'll just write a note saying you can take him for the summer." This happens to be a quiet little guy with a shy and endearing smile, who doesn't feel as if he belongs somewhere. And mom's in double trouble because she's on probation and didn't ever give her new address when she moved six months ago. How do these things happen? The boy's in school, mom could have been traced through the school. I spent an hour today trying to explain to a health insurance rep for state health insurance how children fall through the cracks and never come up for air. They are as disposable as toilet paper and as easily erased. It's as if they were never here to start with.

I lay my head on the steering wheel of my car and weep at the impossibility of it all.

I would like to be the Pied Piper and drive through the streets and pick up every single child who is lonely or crying or frightened. I would like to gather them up and steal all the abused pit bulls and starving cats and just move to another universe and all of us live happily ever after forever and ever and ever. That's something I would say Amen to. Amen, Shalom, Namaste, Om and every other beautiful word of peace and closure.

P.S. -- The Swan Street caper wound up with police following a trail of blood to Vale Cemetery. On Schenectady Street, a group of 10 people in cars shot up a house using various kinds of artillery. On Crane Street, just below Bridge, 25 young men were going at it with chains and baseball bats. All on a quiet, Monday night.