Some say that where there’s smoke, there’s fire. So it surprised no one when, after area residents saw smoke billowing off Route 567, there beneath the gray-churning pillar lay a burning bus. “I saw the gray, smoky pillar, twisting and curling like a one-woman ballet. I ran out the door and down under the viaduct, and there it was, the bus, all twisted and gnarled, the tires melted into the road. I couldn’t but watch. It was too hot to get any closer, and if anybody was in there—I presumed there was—I was sure they was burned right down. You know, though? Before I knew how many perished and who they were exactly who died, I did notice a spectral beauty in destruction, you know what I mean? I don’t know. I guess proximity to death intoxicates a man. Maybe that explains the popularity of climbin’ rocks,” said Felo Nie. All forty-nine passengers had died on impact.
Trop's preferred international wire service.