Sander and I were eating at the Italian joint down the way yesterday and took notice of the fifteen cop cars and six fire trucks all parked in front of the new 17-storey apartment complex being built. All the construction workers were outside and none of them were working. We knew something was up.

So I call my friend Sully, who is the Engineer on the project. She said she couldn’t tell me what had happened but to call her tomorrow and she’d tell me. But she said it was pretty bad. So we ate and the suspense was killing me. I had to wait ’til this morning to find out what the hell happened.

But as we suspected, someone had fallen. He’d fallen seventeen floors and crashed through the roof of the fourth storey (the base of the building is wider than the top) and hit the concrete at rock bottom. So the mess of it was inside the first story, where you couldn’t see it from the outside.

It was last year I guess that the woman drove into the lake, which has now been aptly labeled “Suicide Pond”. So we christened the condos this morning, as was only appropriate. “Death Falls Condos” seems fitting to me. Las Colinas is turning into the accidental suicide capital of the metroplex. Here’s the link to the MSNBC clip, which is almost useless.