Guns for the Homeless


I thought I was having a panic attack yesterday, but I realized that I was a little too calm for it to be a panic attack. It lasted about four hours in the morning. It was awful. It was a deep dread or mourning or fear of something I couldn’t define - I mean - I couldn’t define the feeling, and I couldn’t define the cause. From the time I set out for work, until lunch time, the feeling dogged me. Then at lunch I shook it. After that the afternoon was a fun one - about as much fun as you can have at work. Our supervisors were away so we joked around a lot, and we did the chicken dance, and everything was okay. Weird, huh? Sometimes you just gotta ride that sucker out until you feel safe enough to do the chicken dance.


When I see skid marks on the highway, I try to visualize what happened. Some of the skid marks are very dark and vivid - intense - somebody hit the brakes very hard while going very fast. Some skid marks are crazy and erratic - wavy - curving all over the road - this person fought for control. Some skid marks lead straight into the guard rail, and the guard rail is mangled. Some skid marks are straight, and they go away, as though somebody hit the brakes for no reason. Straight skid marks and then broken red plastic from tail lights mean somebody got rear ended. Some skid marks lead right off the roadway. When I slam on brakes and I just keep going and I haunt the highways, I think I’ll tickle dozing drivers on their ears or noses.