My name is Andrew Pace. Please don’t shoot me; I’m alive, and I need your help.

I work on this phrase as I pedal, steering just outside the crevice on the highway shoulder. Should I make it shorter, so people don’t shoot me before I can say it? Or longer, so they’ll wait to hear the whole thing? Maybe two phrases, short and long. I’ll pick one depending on the look in the person’s eyes. Surviving ilagula was nothing, compared to surviving prejudice and fear.

The sound-byte is that ilagula is always fatal. Like a lot of sound-bytes, it’s nearly true; and that’s good enough for most folks. It was true for Mary. When I came to in our bed, I held her and talked to her. She was cold, and she never moved or spoke.

I undid the string that tied my ankle to the bedpost. Yes, we used the folklore remedy for the random movements ilagula is supposed to cause near the end. The thinking being, how strong can a dead person be?

When my landlord saw me up, he shot at me. I ran. Hours later, the posters went up.