Bus #9

(This was written before the Indonesian earchquake toll went up to 6,000)

So, 2,700, no 4,000, people died in an earthquake in Indonesia. And besides that there’s a volcano.

Lady on the bus says she was born in 1932. Makes her 73. I wonder if she has been speaking her mind all this time.

I wonder why the tweaker keeps looking back, looking back, craning his neck all the way round to look at me.

Marines killed 24 civilians. Among them women and children because a car bomb–a ”line of sight“ bomb–was detonated and killed one of their number.

Tweaker is getting off at 39th. Goodbye. Lady says she’s been married 51 years to a wonderful man. Good for her. He must be deaf. Another tweaker sits in front of me, nodding his head. Lady says her name is Carol.

A marine, a soldier might expect to be killed, who has at least put himself in the path of danger. Gone to battle, gone to war.

These who were killed in retaliation were people put in the path of danger by an enemy force. A force which claimed to be rescuing them from the evil ruler who put his foot on their necks.

The #9 is rolling side to side. A couple of guys are talking about dope in Ryder trucks and meth labs in semi-sleeper cabs. Prison sentences.

Once upon a time in a land far away young men moved from tree to tree, eyes scanning all the jungle for sight of the enemy who would try to kill them. Sometimes children were sent with bombs. Sometimes children were killed because they might have bombs. Sometimes whole villages of people were killed because someone there might have killed someone.

A volcano in Indonesia draws fire up its throat.