When I’m only a few stations away from my destination, I hear her say something about “getting back into the military.” “I wanna go shoot some sand-niggers,” she says. “That’s what we call ‘em. That’s what I like to do. Shoot me some sand niggers. Over in … Baghdad. In…uh…Pakistan! ‘Cause I hate those people over there.” The boy tries to shush her a little, but that only makes her keep going, louder–daring anyone to react. She says it over and over again–this young drunk American girl, with her hot pants and her obvious troubles–how she can’t wait to go shoot “sand niggers.”