One bright day a bomb went off. A small strip of incendiary gel made dust a
coffee concession at one of the mainline stations. Took out three staff, their
manager; six people in line for take-out latte, skinny, perhaps soya; four more
downwind of the blast, skinny, perhaps not; a policeman, just back off sick
leave; and two teenage girls bunking school. A small fire started, damage
localised by an efficient sprinkler system. Forty-five people were injured –
broken limbs, blinded by flying debris – and – in a grisly footnote to the
newsflash – several were burned by molten chocolate hurled through the air by
the blast.