I’m on campus at UCLA around dusk, because I have an appointment to see my counselor about a mistake that had been made on my record. There’s a long line in her office, and we all wonder why she’s seeing us all so late; usually they schedule appointments for the afternoon. After about a fifteen-minute wait, the secretary tells me I’m not going to be able to see her until tomorrow.
I walk out to the bus stop where the UCLA van service runs at evening, to take students back to the dorms and apartments nearby. My girlfriend is there waiting for a van. I ask her if they still run this late; she said the regular vans don’t, but there’s another sort of service running that we can take. I watch a pick-up truck approach the bus stop, but not slow down. As it drives past at about thirty miles an hour, several students leap into the truck bed and struggle to get in; one person doesn’t make it and falls onto the street, then dusts himself off and begins waiting for the next one.