Monday, March 14, 2005

Watsky Smog

The driver plowed into the back of the cart just as he had started an evasive maneuver, sending him and the 15 passengers to their deaths in a ravine about 100 feet below. The cart was a greasy spot now on the road. I asked the driver in French -- many Romanians speak French as a second language -- to stop. He shrugged and answered in French, "It happens all the time; they're all dead," and stopped. We were about 200 feet ahead of the bus. I jumped out of the Jeep and started running back toward the accident when the bus exploded in the ravine, giving me a nice suntan in the process. Body parts flew everywhere, as did odd bits of the bus -- a 1950s-era Greyhound that somehow had made its way to the furthest edge of Europe. Covered in motor oil, blood and lots of other unidentifiable stuff, I got back in the Jeep. We drove on to Bucharest.


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