Fountain Head was a guy - I just didn't know he was Fountain Head when we picked him up. At first, he was lying nearly comatose on the tracks behind North Station. The circus was in town, setting up inside the Boston Garden. A call came in for someone inured on the tracks leading out from the station. After walking around in the dark we finally found him with the cops, way out past the end of the platforms where the tracks give way to bridges over the mouth of the Charles river.

This was not a place you wanted to be drunk, or high, wandering around in the dark of night. Between the trains coming through, and the slippery oil all over the place, and the docks and bridges that lead out over the water below, giant holes to fall through covered over by snowbanks, staggering around out there was a bad idea. That's where Fountain Head finally passed out.

We found him with the cops, all of us huddled over him in the dark, shining our Mag lights down on him. He was laying straight out, rigid like a corpse. It was pretty obvious he hadn't been hit by a train, which had been the initial theory. We thought maybe he was a circus worker who'd wandered out on the tracks while high. His pupils were locked up like needle eyes.

We hauled the rigid Fountain Head back to the ambulance - cranked up the heat and got the lights on him in the back of the truck. The cops helped us tie him down like a board on the stretcher. He was fighting, but yet in a rigid, unconcious way. His arms were popping up like hydraulic Terminator machines - We had to lash him down with orange Velcro restraint straps, tied down to the stretcher rails but his hydraulic arms were bending the rails up like they'd break.

Ed and I were trying to revive Fountain Head. I popped a few ammonia caps under his nose, Ed did the sternal rubs. Nothing worked - unusual because just one ammonia cap by itself could make a horse jump. Fountain Head was just an unconcious fighting machine. Allright, fine. I decided to take one last set of vitals before we set out for the Mass General emergency room.

I put the stethoscope plugs in my ears, started fighting with one of Fountain Head's hydraulic arm to get the BP cuff around it. I was so engrossed with the task of securing the BP cuff, and the stethoscope plugs totally cut off my hearing - The cops and Ed were all shut out - I could only hear the stethoscope knocking and squeaking around / like I was under water. And all I could see was the tensed-up hydraulic fighting arm of Fountain Head.

Suddenly Ed's beefy hand grabbed my collar from behind - He yanked me back so hard I almost fell backwards. What the hell is with ---

Fountain Head blew. A shooting fountain of vomit erupted up into the ambulance. Staggering back from Ed's yank, I watched in horror as Fountain Head's face was covered by a continuous falling cascade of filth.

Later as we cleaned out the truck at the MGH with Lysol and ammonia, we noticed even the ambulance ceiling had been hit - 6 feet high.