The day started two days ago at the Bounty - a backpacker bar/club in Kuta. No, actually, it started at the memorial (Bali Bomb II) just down the street from the Bounty. Having been here several times in the last two months I have seen the Memorial several times. In fact, it is where I met Jack Augusto, the man who would later go on to steal my van and abandon me in Yogya -- see earlier article). When I had seen the memorial before -- and the empty lot where Paddy's used to be -- I had read the names of the dead with a kind of remote sadness and a renewed anger at organized extremist religion. Anyway, this time something happened: I was really moved. There I was, tough world traveler with battle (okay,
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