A Bus Crash  I'm in the front of a bus. We go fast, and start to go up a steep stairway. The bus flips over, crashing. The front of the busy is up: it is steeply slanted, on one end. It is stable: the crash is over. I see what I can do to help. I unbuckle my seat belt while hanging onto a rope-like structure to keep me from falling all the way down to the bottom of the bus. I slide down a rope to the end of the bus on the ground. The doors of the bus near the ground are stuck. I push and pull them open. People are lying around, badly hurt: crushed. I take them out of the bus and lay them on the ground as carefully as I can. One man is very badly crushed. He looks deflated, like only flesh. My housemate Stephen Ramos grabs him carelessly by the neck and moves him. I'm grief stricken by the sight of these people, and Stephen's treatment of them. I begin to cry. This is a terrible sight. I stop crying, setting aside my grief, and continue to help people however I can. My left ear is bleeding seriously from the inside. I have a white cloth bunched up on the side of my head to catch the blood. The stairs that the bus has flipped up on are in a store. As we leave the wreckage I tell a man working at the store that we'll see him in court. The next question is how the group will get home. I seem to be with a college group that is stranded, now.