I was shot, square in the forehead, with a gun, in the back seat of an old Buick or a New Sedan by its front passenger. I leaned over and died against the window.
I didn't really die, though. I woke up from what I had thought was dying and the people I were with were none too concerned. I asked to borrow a phone so I could call the police and the hospital myself, with a bullet lodged in my brain, but no one picked up. When I finally decided the situation was dire, I tried 9-1-1 and reception faded. We finally ended up at a pizza parlour video arcade. Stuck with no money and a friend preoccupied with The Claw I was stuck bleeding and with this bullet still lodged in my brain, still ready to kill me with the littlest jiggle in whatever lobe or whatehaveyou it had settled.
I woke up and and two new white hairs were found, long and wiry and all that shit about wisdom.
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