Norman Casiano crawled into a bathroom and wedged himself into a stall, crammed with at least a dozen people. They were hiding, crying and saying prayers under their breath.
Gunfire replaced the blaring music. Glass shattered.
"Please don't let this be where I go," Casiano prayed.
Casiano froze, certain the gunman was inches away. A figure loomed outside the stall door.
The shots sounded louder. They were getting closer. A man standing outside the stall collapsed in a pool of his own blood.
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