Unscathed

At the risk of jinxing myself--knock, knock, knock--my stay in Argentina in general and BA in particular has been pretty damn safe. I've meandered home punch-drunk many a times in the dark of night, with little unease about my own safety, my path from the mitre to home as tranquil as can be. For the past 18 months I witnessed no crime as a matter of fact, short of littering, which sadly is as common as teen couples playing tongue twister in public--do I sound like an old grouch or what? (Get off my goddamn lawn, you stupid brats!) Yes, yes, I realize littering is not a crime here.

All that changed last Sunday when on the way home from DT on the midday tren, I was suddenly jolted out of my seat by a deafeningly cacophonous C-R-A-C-K! A rock the breadth of my fist had come flying through the window and just barely missed my noggin. The train cops ushered a few of us onto the platform for a head-shakin' good time, and it took no less than 10 minutes to dislodge the splintered glass particles. The window seater next to me was not so lucky and had to be rushed to the hospital to have her scalp examined. On a calamity scale, it seemed like nothing in retrospect, more like the hijinks of a bored street kid--a bored stupid kid, that is. Still, it was terrifying in its own way, if only because for a weentsy split second I was convinced, like a good little American, that it was an act of terrorism.