The kind of PTSD that comes with weekly shootings, teenage funerals and that third world American experience in general, makes phone alerts scary. A chirping and glowing phone past 1 a.m. is a horror film because you know that no good news is waiting on the other side. This is what happens when you grow up in a rough environment, what happened to me a few months ago.  I was in bed reading myself to sleep, my wife next me, “Law and Order: SVU”-ing herself to sleep, until my phone, buzzed and buzzed. Not again, I thought. “Who is that?” she said, well aware of my trauma and the bad news that hunts me.  I picked it up, punched the text bubble and gave a quick skim. No one is dead. “There’s a Freaknik documentary coming out,” I laughed, “The young kids don’t want to see their moms twerking, and my older homies don’t want to caught acting crazy on camera.”  We giggled and dozed off. I already knew the doc was coming but got a kick out …