Some Zen master or another suggested it is better to travel than arrive, but he did not have the day I did. A day after reading about a horrible crash of an overcrowded bus in Kangra where I had just been, I found myself on a bus with 120 fellow sardines, the conductor always willing to stop for more. I stopped worrying about holding on, as there was no where my body could go. I did worry about my ribs being crushed, but like nuts in a jar, with the shaking of the bus coming down the bumpy mountain road, some settling of contents did occur, enough that I had some time to reflect on what might await me on arrival in Delhi. Dreams of that perfect cinnamon bun from the German Bakery, the hot shower
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