Melissa was on the phone to her brother, visibly concerned; every sentenced was uttered in that reassuring, wizened tone of a big sister. I waited until she hung up to hear the story. Her brother works as a surgeon’s assistant, and the day in question a man had been admitted to the ER practically decapitated, DOA. He’d been mowing the grass along I-95 when the blade somehow detached and shot up through the mower, cleaving this head almost entirely from his neck– a visual worthy of a Six Feet Under opening sequence. She relayed the story to me and I squirmed. Then we went to see Grindhouse, replete with the kind of outsize gore that took our minds off the lawnmower man.
The next day, I attempted to take the A/C/E down to W. 4th street. The stairway was cordoned off by police tape. I asked the MTA employee what the deal was. “A homeless man jumped in front of the train. Decapitated. Second one. That’s why I got this pain in my stomach.” She touched her abdomen, below her mesh orange vest. Me too, I thought. Now!
If two makes a trend, then I can expect lots of decapitations this spring. Goody!