"You're underwater in your best friend's pool, retrieving a neon dive stick and praying you won't get eaten. Having just watched Jaws for the first time, you look toward the deep end and can practically see the great white emerging, jagged teeth splayed wide. You swim for the surface, hoist yourself from the water, and scoot back from the edge. Wrapped securely in a towel, you go inside and do the only thing that makes sense: watch another shark movie.
Why is this your instinct?
From the safety of the sofa, you need to feel that rush again, those final seconds when your toes were still underwater, when you weren't one-hundred-percent sure you'd make it out whole. When did you last feel so alive? Chumming your own mental waters, you select a shark film. You press play. Your flesh tingles in anticipation. The ocean appears on screen, a big shadow gliding beneath the surface, suggesting watery mayhem. Then you catch sight of it: that first view of the dorsal fin… "
