The Greyhound bus stops in the middle of nowhere. Or so it seems. The passengers have become kind of careless about all these places. Canada is a vast country, and the distances involved can wear your interest down. So on this stop I see only a few heads turning, like 'how can anybody live here?'
Most of the passengers go out to stretch their legs or have a smoke. I'm eavesdropping quite a bit. We've been on the bus for hours and I'm bored. But then I feel slightly uneasy when a couple of guys starts talking about the
beheading some years back. That was also on a Greyhound bus, leaving people in a state of shock on the darkening Trans-Canada Highway.
I'm puzzled when my fellow passengers somehow find it likely that
the victim must have pissed off the guy. I guess they have a need to think away the randomness, but does it make the beheading more likely?
The bus continues through vast areas of dead pines. It's the brown beetle infested woods that's been around us for hours.
