Now and then I hear American transporters flying east from Aviano in the Italian Alps, but that happens only at night. It is noon, though. They fly high, but the rumble of so many jet engines is unmistakable. Deep. Heavy. Oppressive. And there are two of them, one after another. Iraq? Afghanistan? Or maybe Iran? Two American transporters. One after another. This time, it could well be Iran! Now that Bush is on his hind legs, what the heck. What the fuck. Another silly war in the making…

Addendum (September 16, 2007)

I searched the World Wide Web as soon as I woke up this morning. Later on, over coffee, I searched through the local newspapers. Wherever I looked, there was no mention of Iran, though. There was no mention of any other conflagration, either. The two American transporters—one right after another, and at noon—were on some other mission. Some other unassuming chore. In the end, I felt let down. By my own faulty intuition, of course. Let down by my own lopsided sense of what is what in this crazy world.