HASKELL GARRETT SOMETIMES thinks about whether he really needed his phone that night. He had left it in his car, some five or so blocks from home, but it was the middle of the night -- the clock was creeping toward 1 a.m. -- so what would a few more hours without it matter? In his mind, he never opens the door of his apartment to go back out to retrieve the phone. Never walks the couple hundred feet alone in the dark.
He rewinds the movie in his head of that night, spooling back one frame then the next, like he does when he's poring over his football film, breaking down plays, diagnosing what he'd do differently.