THE LUCKIEST UNLUCKY MAN.

January 5, 2007

I wrote this one after a call that left me completely rattled—not because of chaos or danger, but because of how surreal and controlled it was. The man we found had just shot himself in the head—and then, by some horrific twist of neurology, managed to fire five more rounds into his own leg. It was the most bizarre mix of clinical precision and emotional collapse I’d ever seen. And he was still talking. Still following commands. Still holding onto a meditation rock that said Hope. I couldn’t make sense of it, not in the moment, not even later. So I wrote. Because sometimes, the only way to process a call like that is to put it down in words and let it haunt the page instead of your head. This wasn’t just another trauma—it was a window into the mind of someone who had lost everything… and somehow survived it. For a while.