"The bus ran along a very narrow strip of cement that stood up out of the water with no guard-rail, no nothing;
that's all there was to it. The bus driver leaned back and we roared along over this narrow cement strip surrounded by
water and all the people in the bus, the twenty-five or forty or fifty-two people trusted him, but I never did. Sometimes it
was a new driver, and I thought, how do they select these sons of bitches? There's deep water on both sides of us
and with one error of judgement he'll kill us all. It was ridiculous. Suppose he had an argument with his wife that
morning? Or cancer? Or visions of God? Bad teeth? Anything. He could do it. Dump us all.
I knew that if I was driving that I would consider the possibility or desirability of
drowning everybody. And sometimes, after just such considerations, possibility turns into reality. For each Joan
of Arc there is a Hitler perched at the other end of the teeter-totter. The old story of good and evil."