Driving down the interstate, talking to my buddy, and I see his eyes light up.

Next thing I know, I feel like somebody hit me in the head, but a two by four.

Chad Scott had just left a frat party.

I glanced to the left, and there was a guy hanging out of the window with a tech nine

and fired 27 rounds into the Jeep that I was driving.

I actually got struck three times in the head.

At this time, Chad's an undergrad studying pre-law.

It's the late 80s.

The gunfire doesn't make any sense.

Chad was just driving down the highway north of New Orleans.

These guys in a Caprice Classic pulled out of a parking lot, almost sideswiping him.

So Chad says he flashed his headlights, and they came at him with a semi-automatic.

So the guys started chasing me.

It looks like something out of a movie scene where I'm going from one lane to the other

and as we approach the independent exit, actually, when I cross the median, interstate the wrong

way.

It's like something out of a dream starring Tom Cruise.

Chad and his buddy make it to the exit, but it's not over yet.

So I pull in the independence and taking my clothes off, I'm covered in blood, and I'm

bleeding from the ear, and I guess they're dribbling and all that, just.

And all of a sudden, my passenger buddy's like, go, go, go.

Look up and here they come again.

...