(to myself)

Wonder what that fuel truck is doing there. Wonder why that lady is staring at the fuel truck looking mad scared. Remember that Kaleidoscope where Melanie Hamlett(?) Hazlett(?) told a story about a fuel line exploding on fifth avenue and how she ran away from it and lost her bag? Hamslet? She was funny. See? Maybe dramatic people have it right because they’ll always survive when shit goes down. Like that time your boss smelled gas and fucking ran out of the building? You stayed at your desk and made fun of her, but if your building had blown up, you would’ve been the asshole. A dead asshole. Or like that time when you were on the A train and it wasn’t going anywhere and all of a sudden you noticed people exiting and kind of rushing and running in a giant mass. You were like, “What, is there a gunman or something?” but you still kind of casually walked away. What if there WAS a gunman? What if you and your friend were in an empty subway car and a gunman came in? What if the gunman looked at you and then shot your friend? How could you live with yourself after that? That might be a cool book. Isn’t that already a movie with Uma Thurman? Hysterical Blindness? No, that’s definitely not it. How would you use your wits to save a gunshot victim? Bras are good tourinquets. Wait, people don’t use tourinquets anymore. What if you managed to save your friend after he got shot? What would your life be like then?

And THAT’s why I Googled “surviving a gunshot wound,” IT guys.