The others were already in Guyana. Stuck in the Miami airport, through no fault of my own, I paced. I was a journalist, a ghoul, with a desire to go where no sane man would wish to go. A smiling woman with large, syrupy eyes tried to pin a candy cane on my shirt. She explained that the Hare Krishnas were feeding people all over the world, and she had this record album and a book and a magazine – "Like, it's rully ecstatic" – and would I like to cough up a donation. "Doesn't this Jonestown stuff make you wonder about yourself?" I asked. "What?" She looked up at me in shock. "Selfless commitment," I began. "It's the oldest… " "They killed the babies first," I said. "… religion in the world. We have… " "Potassium cyanide." "… members in all… " "Dead," I said. "Men, women, children, old, young, black, white… " Her eyes glazed over and she turned from me, walking rapidly in the general direction of the United Airlines ticketing desk. I followed along after her, the way so many of them had hounded my steps over the years in airports all over America. "They were… Read full this story
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