I’ll never remember getting run over last Black Friday. Best I can reckon, my head would have exploded if barking dogs, alert medics, forward-thinking neurosurgeons and a slew of other lucky bounces didn’t occur.

I’m 95 percent full-force. The missing 5 percent: the ever-present back and shoulder pain and inability to sleep on my right side; occasionally fumbling for the right word; and an inability to ever adequately apologize for what my bride, dad, friends and caring strangers went through during my eight-day “nap.”

Wielding my onto-the-next-story mentality, I’ve managed to just go on as if the chapter’s closed.


(But if you’re reading, kiddo, pray your friends never set their loyalty-to-you value below the $11,000 reward.)

For protagonists of public stories most thought would end in eulogy, sound-bite-sized answers become natural, I guess. It’s not that inquiries bother me; things just stop changing. That’s where a North Philly man and South Jersey woman enter the picture.

After I got hit, Eugene Braxton e-mailed a friend offering psychic remote-viewing powers (think “Minority Report” and “The Men Who Stare at Goats” mashed up) that enable him to flash-backward for details. Gene, who says he knew Dr. J’s son drowned before the tragic 2000 discovery, remote-viewed with my blessing and saw a dark sedan, silver grill, inexplicable “T” or cross, and white-wall tires with a post-impact slumped-back driver with dark, long hair. He “couldn’t tell if it was a girlish guy, a guyish girl, a goth punk-rocker. The T might mean it’s a priest.”

If his remote-viewing works, I’ll probably feel like Betty Davis felt last month when Joseph Bozzelli was sentenced for killing her son Brian Lilley instantly in a 2006 hit-and-run. Bozzelli’s license was suspended at the time for DUI; he got caught because somebody was enticed by the $10,000 reward. She says a Court TV psychic saw a Bozzelli-type to the T. “At first I didn’t want to live, but I prayed every night not to die before I found out who killed my son. I knew he’d get caught sooner or later,” she told me. “Never give up hope.” I won’t, Betty. But, if I have one last talking point: Please people, look both ways before crossing the street on Black Friday. I don’t want another survivor to have to write about their near-death anniversary next year.

– Brian Hickey lives in East Falls.

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