Monthly Archives: July 2012


It takes five seconds for an ambulance to pass by intensely against their direction and its sirens to reach a more comforting distance. Up the hill the road plateaus becoming Vine street and the cops aren’t visible anymore. A hard sprint is an understatement in the speed he needs to pick up to get down the three blocks to Houston street where he can turn and disappear. The sting of sweat in his eyes makes him go faster. It’s a long stretch until that beautiful green sign comes into view. And then a cop cruiser comes strolling around the corner.

I slow my speed to a walk and snatch the mask from my face. Squeezing it in my fist. Fuck. The cruiser passes by me but I don’t make eye contact. I don’t even look. It doesn’t exist. I speed walk forward. Straight, casual. And then you hear the power steering.

You turn around and palm your face with your free hand to see that they’re no more than ten yards away and that the street’s too narrow for them to make a full turn. Squeeze the mask harder. The cop in the car looks at you and speaks into his talkie. Just keep walking backwards. Away.

My breath is heavy against my palm. The cop keeps talking. Looking at me. Looking at him through my spread fingers. Keep moving away.

The cop turns his head in time to see cop number two hit the plateau and I sprint back into beat with my previous pace around the corner up Houston street. Out of sight by the time I can barely hear the guy get our of his car and yell something like ‘stop,’ or ‘don’t!’

Up Houston makes a steady rise in slope going against the one way. Houses and a Church of God is on the right and on the left is one dormitory after the next. Johnson, Holden, and then after McClain is a gap before an entrance that leads to the open door-ed Pinsky dormitory stairwell.

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Tuesday News

Man’s Limbs Has Minds of Their Own

by ryanfuller


On July 19th, Phillip Alexander woke up to a body that did not quite belong to him anymore. It started with the left arm when his day began to the sound of the morning alarm. When he turned to cut it off, Phillip found himself unable to reach out. Instead it sat by his side and his hand balled up in a fist. “I tried my hardest to just stick a finger out and it was impossible,” explains Mr. Alexander, “I got out of bed and for about ten minutes it was stiff at my side and it spastically started reaching into the air for any nearby object. I had to move my entire body out of reach of anything.”

Slowly throughout the day Phillip began to lose complete control of his own limbs. His right arm was the second to go and he finally decided to see a doctor. Not having the ability to drive he was forced to walk and it was at this time where his arms began to act up.

“It was pretty embarrassing,” recalls Phillip. “In a windmill motion, my arms moved constantly. Every now and then, stopping to make some extreme gesture.”

Passerby’s report in telling us of what they saw: “While walking my dog, this guy was walking toward me and from a good distance away he held up his middle finger. As he passed right by me he held it right in my face. He wouldn’t even make eye contact. As he walked further away his arm was still extended in my direction, finger full fledged.” Another tells about how he would punch every sign he passed by, “I was wondering what made him mad. He wailed on at least five stop signs. Strange thing was he didn’t seem to like that he was doing it. Not many people who punch signs out of anger yell out, “Ow.”

And a female claims, “Oh I feel bad not knowing his conditions, I was just on my daily walk and he just reached out and tried to grab my chest. I gave him a good pop in the eye. And then he some how managed to grab my ass.”

Phillip confirms these stories along with a shiny black eye. By the time Mr. Alexander made it to the doctor’s office he was dragging himself with his right leg, for his left was no longer his. “They took me in the back and when the testing began finally my right leg too was of its own mind.”

Dr. Jordan, who’s seeing over Phillip, explains, “…his condition is extremely rare, this is not the first time any hospital has encountered this but at the same time it’s easy to lose focus on what needs to be done.” Recalling Phillip’s initial movements when the disease fully kicked in, “His left leg was trying to go right and his right leg was trying to go left. Rarely were they moving in normal sync while his arms gestured like a pissed off demon.” But Dr. Jordan also emphasizes that this is not any form of a demonic body take over but a serious physiological nerve processing and psychological reactive dysfunction. “It’s very important that we contain Mr. Alexander until we have complete control of his body. Unfortunately, the wait for recovery is unknown.”

“My life is, for the time being, now on hold. I have yet to let it sink in,” wondering if it’s possible his head/mind is next, “and until then, and through then, I’ll just have to deal with it,” Phillip explains with a teary voice as he sits tied up to a reclined chair waiting for a hopeful moment.

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“Eddie are you home?” His voice what shaky and breathy.

“Yeah pal, what are you doing?”

“Unlock your door I’ll be there in a minute…” Sirens blast in the background. And click…

Oh you dick I hope you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.

Ed goes into the kitchenette and cracks the door open. He grabs the bottle of Mad Dog and gets back to the girls waiting for the news.

“Good news, looks like our friend is only a couple minutes away so how about we drink to that eh girls, we’ll make this guy catch up.” This minute of excitement was just the spark needed to get their juices flowing. Though they would have liked any announcement if it were followed by the call for consumption of more alcohol.

“Oh and Arny too!” Brynn tells us and then starts telling me about this guy she’s been friends with all through high school was coming through town back to Atlanta and made a stop to see her. Apparently he showed up at her dorm building, called her, and she gave him directions to my place. “He’ll be here soon.”


Cathleen taps her now full glass on the coffee table and bounces it back to her mouth where she gulps down half.

“Gaddamn girl,” Brynn says as Cathleen lowers her glass. They both smile at each other and then Brynn taps her glass and follows suit as Cathleen cheers her on with laughter. There’s a little bit of tear coating Brynn’s eyelashes as she set her glass down letting out a couple small coughs.

“To Larry…” I tap my glass and chug half, “Mmhow about, some” I hurry over to Sam’s too old stereo and flip on the radio. Some bullshit rap pop girl singing bullshit, ‘Give me five seconds Imma bout to make a deposit, Damn yous a dirty boy you need to step out that closet,’ “music; egh what the fuck is this?”

“Yeah! Keep it there!” Brynn doesn’t hesitate to start weaving her body side to side. “Missy Yolanda; I’ve got the back seat drive baby back seat drive baby, you’ve got that front seat stride hunny that front meat ride.”

I look at her, and then at Cathleen bobbing her head.

“jesus christ,’ I quietly laugh to myself and bottoms up the rest of my drink.

“Aye! To music! Brynn makes her drink disappear.

“To, taste!” Cathleen pours the last half of the red grape wine down her throat.

I hope to hell she was talking about the Mad Dog.

‘Gimme five seconds gimme gimme five seconds…’

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You only get an instant of a second to react when you get smashed off your feet and onto the ground which provides a second second of opportunity to wriggle from what grasp has you. As the cop lands on top the best thing to do is push his lock down and away as you force your hips against his grip and torque your body to turn over.

I want to give a quick kick to keep him down but it won’t give me any long term advantage, if anything it’ll slow me down. Distance and invisibility is what I need.

The sound of fresh Fila’s thuds the air anyway and not far behind the struggle is cop number one’s twin catching up ready to pump Larry full of fifty-kays but they’re already gone. Each sprinting with only several yards between the other. “Police! Stop!” Cop number one’s breathing begins to deepen, shorten and thicken.

I feel fine. Minus the strawberries the sidewalk gave me across my side and what tastes like a busted lip and bit tongue. It tastes purple. And then it dissipates. The physical pain is of the past and for the future as the mind is strained into the chemical focus that makes escape possible. With the taste of purple, get the cop to believe escape is possible, and you’ve won.

Larry throws his mask back on and hurries his pace. Turning onto an uphill Sixth street he can see he’s getting distance. Cop number two looks up as Larry looks back and there’s eye contact. When the cops finally reach the hill cop number two takes the lead and pushes the hill with evil force.

Near the top I scoop my phone from my pocket. Four missed calls. It’s hard to read but I just need to make a call. Twelve missed texts. Christ, twelve? What the hell that could mean I’m not so sure but this is no time to find out. I just need to make a call. And fuck this hill.

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Devil falls in love with angel.

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