THE CADILLAC.

March 13, 2007

The Cadillac was the closest I’ve come to believing I might get shot while sitting still. This wasn’t a call—it was a pause between chaos, and that’s what made it worse. I wasn’t sprinting into danger. I was waiting for it to crawl toward me with tinted windows and no plates. That night wasn’t about heroism or protocol—it was about the silent dread that fills the cab when you realize no one’s coming. Not yet.