Riding the Pace bus on the way to work, and listening to some pleasantly familiar ditty on my Walkman, I attempt to engulf myself in the book that I'm earnestly trying to finish. Queen of the Damned is ever so enthralling, but the combination of whatever it is that I'm listening to and the new views of my surroundings - visible from the window of the bus - are too much of a distraction for my concentration to hold tightly to the words of Anne Rice I've read before. The bus is virtually empty, save for the driver, several teenagers gleefully returning home from summer school, an elderly man babbling mindlessly to himself (or so I assume; he might be having a witty chat with God, for all I know), an aspiring female yuppie, and myself, the college student spending his summer working in a factory for some reason. Thus, it's a reasonably simple matter to shift my attention to the passing landscape. The suburban town in which I'm presently employed comprises a relatively boring horizon. It reminds me of Three Rivers, Michigan, to where my grandparents happily retired more than a few years ago. As I consider the similarities - the main street and its vague assortment of stores, auto repair shops, and two-star dining establishments - my eyes glimpse a large expanse of greenery. And there it was: a rather idyllic, somewhat palacial "nursing home and retirement community." It was really quite nice. Beyond its wrought-iron gates was a well-kept lawn and garden, long paved driveway, and several classic, well-maintained buildings. "A nice place to live," was my initial thought. Then another sight hit me. Within the confines of that same gate, on that same attractive lawn, was an equally idyllic, well-maintained cemetery. It struck me as odd, then worrisome, then tragically ironic. "A nice place to die." Then I began to wonder the worst and most depressing, as is my tendancy on occasion. I considered how it must feel to be that close to death - not only in age, but to have that compounded by geographic propinquity - and how it must feel to have that reminder there, constantly and consistently staring you down. I pondered as to how many of the residents of this retirement community already owned little plots of that land, and whether or not it really did make them feel more secure... hmmm... to see that their needs would be fulfilled for all eternity. It behooved me to find out exactly how many residents of the community already had friends who were forced by eventual circumstances to relocate, moving from just next door to several yards away... in cozy new subterranean accomodations. How many actually danced on the graves of their unfriendly neighbors? How many wept at the very thought? How many bereavement counselors were on the scene full time, ready for action... or lack thereof? And then, as quickly as it had come, it passed, and the scene was soon replaced by the generic small town version of a Dairy Queen. Revealing the shallow nature of my thoughts at the moment, I had a sudden craving for ice cream. No time to stop; shouldn't risk being late. Have to be early; have to stay ahead of everyone else. Life and livelihood depend upon it.