Easy
Hiding behind a chair in the outside section of a harbourside restaurant in Tampa at gone 2am, while a carload of coked-up Americans hunted for me. I am supremely convinced that they didn't want to give me a lift after swerving a screeching to a halt in their black Lincoln not a hundred yards in front of me. There was a distinct purpose in their approach. I have never genuinely been in fear of my life before or since. I distinctly remembering thinking "what the fuck am I doing here?" whilst I seriously considered slipping into the water to try and escape. Tampa, incidentally, had an unseasonably large amount of sharks that summer.
( Kroney, Mon 15 Nov 2010, 10:51, Reply)