[ WP ] You have a strange mutation that causes you to hear music in your head that gets more intense the closer you are to danger ( like a movie soundtrack ) . You 're walking in the mall when you start hearing a suspenseful beat .

Three months ago, I was mugged. Two months after that, I was nearly hit by a bus. And this morning, I just missed being crushed by steel pipes that ( I'm told ) had not been properly attached to the crane that was lifting them to the top of what will be a new office building. 
 
 The mugging, I just did n't see coming. I was just walking back home after working late, and puzzling over what I thought was a song stuck in my head. I mean, that happens to people sometimes, but usually the songs are whatever catchy tunes you've heard recently. The sorts of songs you can tap your foot too, generally. So I was rather puzzled by this number involving minor key trumpets, soft base lines fading in and out, and what I believe were faint timpani that was playing in my mind. I mean, timpani? Who gets that stuck in their head? And while I was walking along pondering these sorts of things, I came upon a gentleman who requested my participation in a wealth redistribution program, and offered `` not getting shot in the face'' as a reward for my cooperation. 
 
 As you might imagine, this distracted me from my curiosity about mental timpani for a while. But when the same music started up again as I was crossing the street two months later, right before someone saved me from becoming the world's most unappetizing pancake by yanking me out from in front of a bus, I started to form theories. 
 
 And when the music started this morning, and I saw the crane holding pipes directly above me, I decided to get out of the way. After the pipes fell, and in the midst of ignoring dozens of heartfelt apologies from people in orange vests, I decided to take the music as a warning sign from then on. 
 
 So you'll understand why I was concerned when the same kind of music started again just after I had picked up a new phone at the mall and was aimlessly looking for one of those pretzel places. 
 
 The problem was that this time, I could see no source of danger. I looked around, but saw nothing that could fall on me, no strangely out of place careening vehicles, nothing that looked remotely threatening. 
 
 Which was n't comforting. If I trusted the music - and since I did n't especially want to die that afternoon, I decided to - what that meant was that there was a hidden danger. I began to look around more carefully. Perhaps the second floor walkway was poorly designed, and was about to fail. I moved out from underneath it, and looked up to see a glass skylight - something could fall through that easily. Perhaps a meteor even? No, that was silly. Surely these buildings were built well enough to survive whatever was likely to happen, with as many people as were inside them. 
 
 People. I was surrounded by people, and people do all kinds of messed up things. So maybe it would be another person here, someone who was about to do some very human thing like killing a bunch of people to try to bring them around to his point of view. But then again, those pipes should have been secured this morning, and probably should n't have been over my head anyway, right? I seemed to remember some orange vest telling me that. So maybe there was a fault in the building. The mall should have been built well, but that does n't mean it was. Or there could be a fire or... 
 
 My mind was spinning, my heart rate began to increase as I grasped for an explanation for the music, but failed to find one. Or rather, found too many. I started moving towards an exit, but saw what looked like a crack in bottom of the second floor walkway that I'd have to walk under, and so turned to look for another. It could have just been peeling paint, but I did n't want to be crushed, so did n't chance it. I began to sweat. The next door looked safe enough, but as I approached, a group of people walked through - probably fine people, but they did n't look fine, rather rough, with shaved heads and tattoos; and I was n't exactly in a mental state to evaluate prejudices. I turned again, my walk speeding up, turning from exit to exit, always seeing a reason to turn away yet again, always with the music playing. 
 
 The sweating intensified - here a stern looking man in a long coat, perfect for hiding a weapon, looked at me, there a statue could fall. I began to shake, and sped up further, breaking into a near run. But I could see nowhere to go, everywhere I looked was something that could kill me, or a person starring at me. Every person a killer, every object a death trap. Those timpani still going in my head, if that's what they were. 
 
 There was nowhere to go. I started backing into a corner, as far from everything that looked like it could move as possible. My back touched the wall, and I looked up, only to see yet another ceiling that could fall. 
 
 But what was there to do? I had given up, the music had followed me everywhere, never fading. I slid down the wall, shaking and muttering, `` music, music...'' I glanced up, still muttering, to see a man walking towards me, frowning, hand reaching towards his waistband. But I was spent. I could n't form a coherent plan, and could n't have executed it anyway. I just sat there, shaking, muttering, and starring at him as he strode towards me. 
 
 When he was within arms length of me, his left hand began to return from his waistband, while he reached towards my throat with his right. And I just sat there, shaking and muttering and wondering, why timpani? 
 
 His right hand closed, just inches from my neck. He pulled it downwards. `` Music, huh?'' he said, as the ear buds came fell out of my ears. `` Sounds like a movie soundtrack, guess even those make it to Pandora. That what you got playing on that phone of yours? You do n't look so good.'' He then spoke into the radio he had in his left hand `` We got some kid here really freaking out, might be drugs.'' 
 
 That evening, I made a vow: never get angry with IT guys when they ask you if it's plugged in. 
 
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 First one of these, written on a phone, at 4am. ( Those are my excuses, anyway. )
