by R.L. Wisdom

          I am on a bus with my wife.  I am talking to a tourist’s camera; saying, ‘The second time I died was because of a trolley.’
          A trolley races past, off its tracks.  The front of it misses the bus but by over-compensating our driver clips the rear of the trolley, sending the bus rolling, rolling.
          The rolling stops.  Everyone is startled for a long moment but people soon begin to move about and collect their bearings.  I can begin to hear sirens in the background.  Upon reaching the scene, emergency workers start to help passengers loose themselves from the wreckage.
          The workers keep walking past me as I lay there, still stunned.  This worries me.  I have died once before and the way I feel now is eerily familiar….
          Living people cannot see dead people.  And, being dead, I cannot see dead bodies.  My wife asks me what’s going on, so I explain.  We walk away from the wreckage and begin traveling down a side street.
          I must warn you that, at this point, I am not sure if my wife is dead or not.  I do not know myself whether I have been killed in the crash.  All logic is suspended.
          My wife asks me to walk back down the block to get some napkins from the take-out counter of a restaurant we’ve just passed.  There is a cut on her nose.
          I turn around and head back.  I come to a storefront with a big glass display window.  It is there that I become disoriented and almost lose myself in the mirror-like glass.  It takes all of my mental faculties what seems like a dozen minutes to extract myself from its reflective pool/pull...
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