Nonfiction | March 01, 2010

The full text of this essay is not currently available online.

The bus will have to move. I’m under its rear tires on the passenger side, and with the crowd, the driver can’t see me in the mirror. “Can you please tell him to move?” I say to someone leaning over me. It is easy to be calm because I cannot really have been run over by a bus.

If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.