Lillo Brancato Jr leans over the table at a beloved pizza joint in Yonkers and bows his shaved head slightly, pointing out a nasty scar behind his left ear on the back of his scalp. It’s about an inch and a half long and jagged; he got it when he jumped from a moving car almost 15 years ago, irrationally convinced his friends were out to get him as they drove together through Long Island.

Or maybe it was Queens; Brancato, now 42, can’t quite remember. He was coked out of his mind and deluded by the accompanying paranoia. The head wound required stitches but still became infected, and Brancato needed stronger pain medication that just compounded the drug addiction that already had him in its grip.