from Baghdad to Rotebro

-They’re still out there by Stockholmsvägen. Shall I drive the same way back again?

The bus driver is evidently shaken. Her bus has just been bombarded with stones by a gang of youngsters. One of the windows is merely a memory. The line ends at our commuter train station, she’s supposed to pick up passengers and drive the same route back. It’ll take about two minutes to reach the spot where the attack took place. Finally an answer on the radio:

-Drive the usual route. Call us if it happens again.

It’s a warm summer night, I might as well take a walk but if she has to go through this, so could I. During the two minute drive we talk about previous attacks, about how different windows in the bus are not equally resistant, about a passenger being injured on the same front seat where I'm sitting. When we reach the spot where stones were raining ten minutes ago the kids have fled or maybe they found another pastime.
Random violence has become routine. From Baghdad to Rotebro, evil is all around is.
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