The conversation among commuting comrades on the 94 bus turned to the San Bernadino shooting. More accurately, it turned toward it and then veered away:
“Can you believe this one?”
“It was like an place where they help developmentally disabled or something.”
“Yeah. That was messed up.”
Details established, the words trailed off. Anything more was beyond us this Friday morning. The same conversation, more or less, repeated at work:
“They were a husband and wife.”
“Yeah, they had a six month old baby.”
From there it went nowhere. Where could it go? What was there left to say?