Friday, April 16, 2004

Halfway between getting my feet in order and having my trachea crushed, it suddenly occurred to me this new pasttime would involve far more pain than, say, collecting stamps. That’s fine, though, because this isn’t a hobby in the usual sense: adding “ground fighting” to my skill set was never a priority for me, but riding the Prosecution Train hasn’t done much to calm my nerves either.

“In nine out of ten cases,” the victim services officer told me, “there’s no retaliation. It’s pretty rare.”

While this may be true, stats almost always come in pairs, and damned if I’m going to meet the ugly doppelganger of this stat unprepared. Will I learn to run on walls and dodge bullets, gentle reader? Please, spare me. One thing’s for sure, though. The next time some cockjockey asks to “borrow” my cellphone, I’ll lend him some broken ribs instead.