Can't move

It was a long time before. October 1899.
Newspapers. Mafia. Alcohol. I don’t even know why these pictures pop up in my mind now.
It’s dark out of the window. Snowing though.
But seems like black snow...
A flash.
bang. bang.

Two guys, with hats and nice coats, or at least it seems from where I’m standing. Anyway, their coats are probably better looking than their faces. I don’t know if what I saw were pieces of brain or pieces of cheeks.
It’s just shadow...

But the guys are lying on the ground. Smoke leaving their freshly corpses. The street is smoking by herself, below the warm light of a ‘réverbère’, like they call it in France if I remember well.

I see a cigarette falling, a red point on the ground now.
I see also two eyes.
Same red.
And a hat.
Looks bigger and bigger. The guy is coming. I have to leave this window. Quickly.