Quincey was zoned out in South Congaree. He’d finished off a bottle of Boone’s Farm and decided to bed down. It was still 10 o’clock in the morning.

Problem: Here comes a Norfolk/Southern freight train headed back to Columbia from Orangeburg County pulling 40 to 50 cars. Did I mention that the bed Quincey is asleep in is the "roadbed" between train tracks?

The moment the engineer sees Quincey he hits the brakes and lays sand down on the tracks. Quincey is about 50 yards ahead. The engine is moving at a reasonable 25 miles per hour, but stopping within 50 yards is-well-impossible.

The big engine passes over Quincey. By the time the train comes to a complete stop about 30 freight cars have passed over Quincey. Poor old dead Quincey you must think. Not so! No sooner does the train come to a standstill than Quincey rolls out from under the train and heads for the woods nearby.

You should know that there’s between 8 and 10 inches of clearance between the roadbed and the train’s undercarriage. "The part that’ll get you is the brake rigging and air lines hanging down between the wheels," says a retired railroad man.

"But Quincey was a very small man or he’d be ground meat," the railroad man adds. "The fact that he’s built like a cadaver is the only thing that saved him."

Quincey stumbles into the woods pursued by two crewmen from the train. The senior crewman yells out: "We’re not going to hurt you, man-we’ve just got some reports to fill out."

Quincey grabs a tree and stops to catch his breath. He begs the railroad men not to lock him up. "Please don’t put me in jail...I’m having a terrible day," he says pointing back at the tracks. "I just got run over by that stupid train."