Recreating (and advancing) pk’s censored domains: Macroinformation.org & Knatz.com / Personal / Stories / pk by Age / College Years /
@ K. 2002 09 14
In writing my piece on Masks and Deceptions I found myself illustrating some social evolutionary points from my personal experience. Now that I have this personal story folder, I believe those stories belong here. [The context is defense by deception.]
I’ve succeeded with this tactic myself. One night I’d had far too many beers at the Whitehorse. By the time the IRT local picked me up at Sheridan Square it was pretty late and I decided to skip switching to the express at 14th Street and then back to a Broadway local at 96th Street. Rickety-clack, I keep trying to wake up for 116th Street so as not to find myself minus my watch and who knows what else, being kicked by the guard at VanCourtland Park. Sure enough. It’s blurry, but the tiles seem to say 116. But something’s wrong. The letters are not the baby blue of Columbia. Oh Jesus, I was too sodden to notice that the local was the Seventh Ave Line; not Broadway.
So, I’m in Harlem. 116th & 7th; not 116th on Morningside Heights. I’ll have to cross the street. Repay. Wait forever for the downtown local. Wake up again by 96th Street. Switch to the Broadway train I should have waited for in the first place. I’ll have missed two classes by the time I get back (instead of merely sleeping through them.)
Or, I could hike up through the dread Morningside Park they spent so much time warning us against in Freshman Orientation. What the hell. My life is already supposedly at risk. How much worse would it be? Larry says he goes down into the park all the time. (Yeah, but Larry went there so he could kill people! Defending himself! See In the Park.) With any luck I’ll be back in the dorm by 6 AM.
I’m still alive when I get to the park. Of course I could still walk down to 110th and go around it. No, man, I’m too tired.
I start climbing the steps. Whoops. A whole gang of shadows is moving toward me. Oh well, I never expected to live to see twenty anyway.
Think fast, you muddle-brain. I was already lurching. I exaggerated it. I started to giggle. I put my hand in my pocket and made my fingers itchy. I left the steps and entered the trees, moving toward them. Limp, cackle, cackle, limp.
They evaporated. The shadows had clustered; now they were dispersing, muttering in Spanish.
I think I’ve told this same story in other posts.
I could be dead ten times over from these tactics. I’m not guaranteeing the results. I do guarantee that it can work, has worked.
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