Now, I'm no doctor, but this bullet wound can't be good.

What the Hell happened last night?

Ugh- my head is still spinning.

I was supposed to cover some protests with Dodge Enbern, the Post's photographer extraordinaire.

He lived up to his reputation, particularly the drinking.

This looks pretty bad.

At least it doesn't hur-

OWWWWWWWWWWWWW 

FUCKFUCKFUCK yes it does yes IT DOES!

I should go to a hospital.

If I go to the ER with a gunshot wound, though, I think they have to call the cops.

I should probably figure out who shot me first.

It's all so fuzzy.

I  recall bits of screaming and chaos, but it's all so damned fuzzy.

We were there to cover massive protests over police brutality.

But the protestors were all peaceful.

I don't see how that could have... I mean... unless...

Oh

I- uh, oh...

I remember, I think-

it's just that it was kind of boring, and sad, and Dodge and I just kept drinking.

And we may have smoked a little something.

But then, at one point...

He sort of stole a cop's gun.

Dodge just grabbed it and ran.

He started firing it up into the air, yelling "Attica" between shots.

Everyone freaked out.

The protestors all started running and screaming.

The cops started firing bullets and tear gas everywhere. 

I just remember running for my life with Dodge cackling beside me all along the way.

So... I was probably shot by NYPD. 

Great.

I may be an accessory to several felonies.

I guess I'll see if I can patch this up with paper towels and an ace bandage.