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A film called Assault on Precinct 13 begins with a sequence of shots of a gang of young men riding around the Watts District of Los Angeles in a car, aiming rifles first at an old black woman, then at a white man, then at a black man. Their fun is at least racially undiscriminating. The aiming seems random, idle, almost whimsical. We get to see the quarry lined up in the sights of the rifle each time, but noone pulls the trigger. The members of the gang seem to be having a good time. (Bruce Chatwin [1987] observed that, in the language of many nomadic peoples, the word for townspeople is “meat.”) The scene then switches to a little girl buying an ice cream from an ice cream vendor while her father makes a phone call from a call box. She returns to her father but suddenly looks at her ice cream with dismay and turns back to the ice cream van. She does not realize that by then the gang has killed the ice cream vendor, and the man standing in the van is his killer. She says, “Excuse me, I asked for chocolate and you've given me strawberry!” The killer turns and, as casually as he might swat a fly, shoots her in her still open mouth. It is horrifying, and what is particularly horrifying about it is the casualness. The killer does not appear to be angry, nor does he give any sign of sadistic relish. He looks at most mildly irritated.