The man under the bus was previously dead. We came to this conclusion when a crow started pecking out his knee. The jeans were torn, but his shoelaces appeared freshly tied. Miss Dorsey fumbled in her purse for a rosary. I didnt kill him, the driver saidand that was how we knew they were sleeping together, how they planned everything at the farmerís market, behind the tomatoes. One student noted that portions of the man were moving inside the maggots. Dont talk to my ex-husband like that, Miss Dorsey said. She recognized him by the sneakers he wore when he threatened never to come home. The smell of rot became his speech and, towards the end, we were all talking about it: Its the fault of this goddamn weather. Does this mean were on a diet? Will this come out in the final exam? The driver just stood there. There was oil all over him and oil all over the dead man in the manner of really good excuses to start a war.