Violence on bus
(26 November 2025)
I don’t remember the incident, but my mother used to say she regretted scolding me for hitting a jerk in nursery school, because her words affected me too much and I became too peaceful.
On the bus, I was thinking about how my brother had been a good futsal goalkeeper whose career was cut short when his player registration was revoked for punching a referee after an interesting exchange of words that my brother told me about, but which I — unfortunately — no longer remember.
I wondered how many times, in my opposite case, I could have easily and quickly avoided or resolved problems if I had resorted to physical violence. (Regarding the matter with Neighbour, for example, I still ask myself such a question.)
These thoughts were interrupted by an anomaly on the bus, which made me wonder what on earth was going on and made me think that I was going to be late for work.
We were stopped behind several cars with the traffic light green, in front of a large roundabout. Only one car honked its horn. There was no sign of a traffic officer directing traffic. The lanes of the perpendicular street were empty. The traffic light turned amber, then red for a while, and then green again…
A long line of police cars began to pass by on the perpendicular street, followed by a strange and beautiful dark vehicle, very long, not very wide, and unusually low (not as low as a Formula One car or a Ferrari, but very low).
‘The King.’
He was in it, she was sure. The woman on the bus told us several times.
Another long convoy of police cars passed behind the dark car, the bus resumed its journey, and in the end I arrived only three minutes late, all the while thinking about the King, and about the fact of having a king, and also about John Fitzgerald Kennedy.