cut to:

[a series of unfortunate events]

I’m in darkness. Of course I’m in darkness — I exist in darkness these days, I think to myself.

A car horn is going off. Why does the air smell of smoke? I realize my eyes have been closed. Opening them takes willpower, but I get them open and blink a few times. There’s white dust all over my pants. Where am I? Oh, wait, that’s my center console, isn’t it? Oh, SH*T! The airbags have deployed — and I’m in my car. Holy f*ck. I can’t feel my face. And my neck isn’t moving right. Or maybe it’s that my collar bone feels out of place. Great, another accident. Cops will be here shortly. What do I have on me…anything? I can’t remember. Try opening the door. Handle works. But shit, the door doesn’t want to ope — wait, there we go. Just required some force. Can I move my legs? They seem to be alright. Let’s step out. I’m suddenly laying on some grass. Did I just fall? Holy sh*t I am dizzy. Seeing stars. Oh NO — f*ck, I can hear the sirens. There’s definitely something illegal in the car. There always is, when I’m in this state. I wonder how much they’ll search for it. F*ck it, I don’t care. And I can’t move, even if I did. Just have to get my bearings a bit. Just have to breathe. What happened? What am I going to tell the cops? F*ck — I see flashing lights. They’re here.

Cut to:

I’m sitting on the couch, and my kitten is purring her love into my stomach as I look intently into the fireplace. How strange, fire is. What is it, really? A chemical reaction, right? It isn’t a tangible substance, I don’t believe. Yet there it is. It is present, and I am staring into it. I wonder what she is doing right now. I wonder if she is as miserable as I am. Maybe so, but probably not… My attention drifts back into the fireplace, and imagine what it would be like to just step into it. A flaming Saint Nicholas. Though…I don’t really look anything like Santa, at least I haven’t got a beard and…. BOOM! My cat flies from my lap. I jump to my feet — “WHERE IS THAT F*CKING FAGGOT?!” Someone has just kicked in the front door. I see a tall man, probably just south of six foot six, come striding into view with a gun drawn, and realize that he’s here for me. Apparently I’m the faggot, I think to myself. He side-steps and turns with his gun to point it at me, but my body springs to life without my directing it. I lunge forward, running towards the kitchen. This forces him to double back, buying me an estimated two to three seconds. I wait until I see the gun in his hands slide into view from the front hallway through the kitchen doorway, and my body once again takes me without my direction. This time, in a flash, I turn around and sprint through the back door into the backyard. The second the night air fills my lungs, I’m back in my body. F*CK, RUN! I turn right, dodge the tree, and sprint towards the side yard gate which goes to the front yard. Can’t fiddle with the latch, he’ll be behind me in a couple of milliseconds. It’s got to be up and over. My body is fully alive, and it feels like I could jump the six-foot gate in one leap, but I know I can’t. I plant my hands, and in one motion pull my body up and over as fast as humanly possible, my legs scrambling to find purchase on the gate, kicking hard into the wood, and thrusting my lower half over behind my top. I land in wet grass, and hear a voice scream “THIS WAY, THE F*CKERS OUT IN THE FRONT!” — oh dear god, he’s fifteen feet away, just behind the fence. Once again my body leaps to action, but sloppily. I struggle to get onto my feet; my body is pulling me forward too fast. I fall again, though this time only slightly, through the bushes of the neighbor’s yard — but my hands plant onto the ground, and I’m back on my feet in an instant. Running, faster than I have ever run in my life. One jump. Then a leap through rose bushes. I’m two houses down. I hear the gate latch jiggling behind me. I need cover. I’m in the open.Where the fuck to hide? There’s a truck, ten feet away. I wait to feel the bullet plant itself between my shoulder blades at any second as I make my final dash towards it and jump into a slide as if I was taking third base. My knees and elbows sting with pain, and immediately I roll to the right, parallel to the axel, to find cover from the large truck’s wheel. I cease to move and do my best to make my body a statue. But my chest is raggedly drawing in air at a rate I’ve never felt before. My breathing is the loudest thing on the entire street. It can probably be heard three doors down. Close your eyes, control your breath, slow it dow…a twig snaps. Probably ten feet away, at my 11 o’clock. F*ck. I attempt to hold my breath. But my blood is still pumping too rapidly. My heart rate must be at like 226. I can hear the blood rushing through my head, my heart pounding the last rhythms my ears will ever hear. Blood starts to seep from the skin of my elbows and knees. The footsteps hit concrete. Then, they stand still. It feels like an eternity. A moment later, they are moving away — “CHECK DOWN THAT WAY; YOU TAKE THIS STREET I’LL GO UP THERE” the feet continue to move away from where I lay, desperately trying to control the rate at which my body is sucking in oxygen. I slowly slide my cell phone from my pocket, and flip the sound switch to silent. The light is too bright. So I hold it as close to my chest as possible, angled towards the left side of my body, away from the street where they are looking for me. I dial 911, and “911 WHATS YOUR EMERGENCY” blares out of my phone — I start pounding on the volume down button and begin to whisper, “I just had gunmen enter my home, I ran, and am hiding, I’m located at…”

Cut to:

There is a pounding on my door. But I’m so comfortable. This is a great hotel mattress. Don’t want to get out of bed. The pounding continues. How f*cking rude. Oh, MAYBE ITS ROOM SERVICE! I remember I had left that card on my door the night before with my breakfast order. Okay, okay, I’ll get out of bed for Eggs Benedict. I Get out of bed and stretch. The pounding at the door continues. Jesus, these are some batshit room service personnel. Their tip is going to reflect my dissatisfaction with this rude awakening. I realize I can’t answer the door like this; I’m shirtless, in my boxers, so I grab a neatly folded shirt out of my suitcase and start to throw it on as I walk towards the door. I take a deep breath in, place my hand on the doorknob, and fix a plastic smile onto my face, swinging it open. Light pours in — “HELLO, sir? We need to ask you a few questions…” — there is a plainclothes officer, with a badge hanging from his neck, flanked by two officers in their full regalia. No eggs Benedict. Fuck, come to life, brain. “Yes?” I respond. “Could we come in, sir?”, an officer asks — I say “sure”, and start opening the door wider, stepping back. All three officers pile in through my doorway, taking in their surroundings. Within a second, one of them is between the two queen beds that my room was mistakenly outfitted with. He walks towards the nightstand which stood between them, and reaches for my wallet, glancing at my ID. The other officer opens my suitcase and glances inside at its neatly packed contents. The plainclothes officer has just rummaged through my briefcase, which sat tidily alongside the suitcase on the unused queen bed. He turns around and looks me straight in the eyes. “What’s going on?” I ask. “What do you know about the man you checked in with last night? You checked in together, didn’t you…?” he responds. “Oh, James? We’re old friends. I’m visiting him here in New York, so we both checked in for the night before we continue on upstate tomorrow…” The officer looks me over. “So you haven’t been into his room then? Haven’t seen what’s in there?” At about this point, I start to hear muffled shouting in the hallway, coming through the door. “No, I haven’t — we got in late last night, and I came straight to my room. Why?” More shouting. Then silence. A knock on my door, “He’s locked us out, Sarge…” says a faceless voice through the crack. “F*ck”, the plainclothes officer grunts through gritted teeth, still staring at me. “So you don’t know anything about what he’s been doing? Anything about what’s in his room?” — and I reply with a shrug, “No, as I said I’m just visiting. Got in on a flight last night. I’m really more on business; this is just a stop” — I see one of the officers move towards my window, and peer out of it, looking to his left. “Sh*t! Sarge, he’s going out the window!!!” All three officers fly into action, running towards my door, and then through it. The door shuts. I sit on my bed, thinking. Adrenaline hits. Your brain has arrived for work today and is at your service. F*ck James, I quickly think to myself, ignoring the window. Instead, I stand up, move swiftly to the door, and lock it. Within four strides, I’m at my nightstand, grabbing my wallet. Putting a finger behind my real driver’s license, I slide out the four fake ones that I knew were concealed behind it, alongside about $600 in fake currency from the billfold, and five fake credit cards that I had printed, embossed and encoded myself. I look around the room. THINK, you idiot! Where aren’t they going to look? I move towards the dresser that has the TV on top of it and drop to my knees. Huffing slightly, I put my shoulder into it, catching it right at the lip at the top, and lift the front of the massive thing two or three inches off the ground, as the TV quivered precariously. I quickly begin to distribute the fake IDs, credit cards and counterfeit currency below the dresser, fanning the currency out, and sliding the plastic towards the back like a blackjack dealer. I allow my shoulder to ease, and the dresser to return to the ground, standing back up. I look at it. It looked entirely undisturbed, and I admired my handiwork. But my mind quickly jumps to the next problem. F*CK. THE HEROIN! I move towards my bag, unzip the bags’ lining, and pull out a baggy full of just under a half ounce of pure gunpowder heroin from underneath it. This was the main supply, but where was my daily? I grab a pair of pants off the floor and look in the coin pocket. Perfect, got it. I start to put the pants on, and hear pounding on my door again as I’m buttoning them up… F*CK. I move into the bathroom, crying internally, as I know what I have to do. My hands are shaking. I open my daily bag, and from the main supply I pour out another gram or so of heroin into it, up to the point where it’s pretty full. I slide it into my coin pocket. I look at the remaining half ounce of beautiful golden brown heroin and think about how much it cost, before dropping it into the toilet and hitting the flusher. I walk back towards the door, once more muster up the energy to plaster my face with a smile, and unlock it. The second the lock turns, a cop’s shoulder opens it forcefully, and they are back a foot inside of my room. Five of them this time. I stagger back. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”, I ask. The plainclothes officer looks like he wants to punch me in the face. I look back into his eyes, and as innocently as I can muster say, “Is there a problem?”

Cut to:

“Step on it you f*cking idiot!”, I slam on the accelerator. To my right, in the passenger seat, is a 300-pound female Serrano drug dealer, affectionately known as Smiley. We had just flown by a cop, doing 90mph. I pushed the car harder, clocking my gauges at just north of a hundred, wondering how much more this little hybrid SUV could take. “YOU ON THE REARVIEW. I GOT THE FRONT. ANY LIGHTS YOU SEE THAT ARE GAINING ON US ARE A COP, KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED.” My car engine revs higher as the pedal hits the floor. This is it. Adrenaline hits me, overcoming the heroin in my system. My hands tighten on the wheel. I look over at Smiley, yelling “why can’t YOU take the rear view?! I’m going like one-fifteen; doesn’t it make more sense for ME to take the front?” and she responds, “NO, IT DONT YOU DUMB F*CK. STAY ON THE REARVIEW!” I bite my tongue. Dumb f*ck, she says. Stupid bitch, I think to myself. I look back into the rearview, waiting for cop lights to appear, as my car surges over a hill into the night.

Cut to:

I’m on a curb. So are five others. A light shines into my eyes. An officer walks past. The light moves on. “So you idiots thought you were going to do a bit of drinking tonight, eh?” No one responds. Music is still blaring out of the house behind us. “Do you kids even know how f*cked you are if we find drugs in that house?” Still, no one responds. The music abruptly dies. An officer walks out of the house, “That’s everyone! I think the rest jumped fences, or scattered right as we were arriving. The ones in front of you were the ones that stayed. Must mean it’s their show, this little event tonight…” The officer pacing in front of us laughs, “Is that true boys? You the ringleaders here?” Silence. “F*cking idiots”, he mutters under his breath. A clatter sounds from inside the house, carrying through the open front door into the silence of the night. Someone runs across the foyer, inside of the house, right in full view of the officers, before disappearing on the other side, “there’s a runner!” says the officer nearest — and runs towards the door, chasing whoever was fleeing inside. The officer in front of us quits his pacing, pulls something out of his belt, and the harsh CRACK of a taser sounds, as blue electricity springs from the device into the dark surroundings, easily visible to all of us curbed. “F*ck this,” says the officer, glancing at us, before running inside after his parter. Terrified of the taser, I say “No, f*ck THIS!” quietly under my breath, before jumping to my feet, and sprinting down the street. I glance back. The boys are still glued to the curb, staring at me. I cut left two houses down, my feet now pounding grass, and leap into a swan dive, aiming towards the thickest bunch of shrubs I can see. Its branches claw at my face, but I land solidly on the ground behind it.

Cut to:

I’m in third grade, and my buddy Evan has just shown me his loot. He had a strapped, made-to-be-worn-on-your-hip type of shiny metal coin dispenser, filled with quarters. Four full rows of sparkling, spring-loaded quarters. Probably a thousand bucks, I think. “My dad said it’s supposed to be for a boat, or a ferry, or somethin’.” I look at this goldmine in quarters and swallow. “Yeah, it’s really cool” I earnestly say back. From the next room we hear a voice, “EVAN!! GET IN HERE!!” — it’s his father. “Damn”, he says, lifting himself off the ground. “I’ll be back.” While I sit waiting, a new type of thought occurs to me. The very first time I have ever had such a thought. Why should Evan have all these coins? I don’t have any coins. Cant never play any games up at the pizza shop. Can’t never buy no candy. Evan Doesn’t need all of these coins, I think to myself. And slowly, I begin sliding them out, one by one, and dropping them into my pocket….

Come to:

I open my eyes. I’ve been walking straight ahead with them closed for a while now. Funny, where my mind drifted. It’s cold in here this far underground. My eyes come back into focus, and as my head is hung, they come into focus on the chains which bind my feet. My eyes travel upwards toward my navel, where my foot chains are connected by a chain that stretches up past my groin. This chain is in turn connected to the chain slipped through my handcuffs, and then wrapped tightly around my waist. Is this necessary? I think to myself. But then again, this is super-max, and they don’t f*ck around. And this is the hallway to the place which seals my fate. The underground tunnel that travels from the lockup I have been in living in for the past six months to the courtroom. The officer’s shoes tap with a hard sound. That’s because this is a courtroom officer, I realize. Courtroom officers wear fancy shoes, unlike their rubber-soled jailhouse counterparts. The tapping carries down the hallway, echoing exponentially down the corridor. Today is the first day I have shaved my face for six months. Today is the day that counts. “Ready?” Asks the officer, placing his hand on the door in front of him which reads COURTROOM 6. “What?” I say, suddenly looking up and realizing we are at the door. Behind this door lies the Decider In Chief, with their mini Deciderers at the table which will be to my right. I know the layout like the back of my hand at this point. I absent-mindedly wonder how I got from the center of the hallway to the end of it. Wonder if I was conscious. I feel pretty calm, all things considered. “What, are we going to go back if I say I’m not?” I reply with a slight smile to the officer. “Not a f*-ck-ing chance…” he says, in five staccato syllables. He opens the door and I walk through it, wondering what kind of mood the gods were in today….