Only 19

The police had blocked off the roads, an officer with a black rifle placed at each intersection, a K-9 unit sweeping between rows of houses and a helicopter circling from above. There was an armed suspect on the loose, someone who may have been involved in a shooting less than an hour before.

No one seemed surprised really. The neighbors trying to get back home were used to seeing cops crawling around their trailer park.

But the intern, you'd think the intern would be excited. After all, she could be back at the office typing up "Town Talk" briefs while watching the second hand squeak by on the clock. I glance into my back seat to see what she is doing. She is flipping through my copy of "The 8th Habit" which laid abandoned on the floor of my car since I moved here.

Later on, when we're heading back to the office, the photog asked her if she found our little excursion exciting, if she could envision herself as a journalist.

"I don't know," she replied. "I'm only 19. I don't have to decide what I want to be now."