If there’s anything a Peace Corps Volunteer can relate to, it’s shoving herself into a stuffy, smelly, overcrowded minibus (in Romanian, it’s called a “rutiera,” but down Comrat way we use the Russian term “marshrutka” (маршрутка)) for a bumpy ride with a barnyard atmosphere.
There are times when I think there’s a wisdom to that one conception of telepathy – not the mind-reading, clear as day, but more on the side of premonition. You know, something’s coming. And I imagine the afternoon Danny’s school director announced her request, he had a little inkling bumming around the back of his mind, that sixth sense for potential projects. In this kind of ramshackle, seat-of-your-pants work, you learn to sniff out the blood pretty quick.