Read it. It’s a beautiful short story.
The bus driver did not look at me when I entered the bus. I spared him a glance as he sped away from the bus stop and grabbed a red pole to steady myself before I flopped into my seat.
“Sorry,” I apologized to the man on the window seat when I regained my balance and saw what my lipstick had done to his sleeve.
He shrugged and smiled.
Whenever we approached a bus stop, we lurched forward as the driver braked and we fell backwards as he accelerated again. No one got on the bus. At the intersection between Park and Jacob Street, a grey Toyota on the opposite lane, anxious to beat the red light, navigated a left turn. But it was caught in the middle of the road, in the path of our angry bus. The bus driver brought the bus within scratching distance of the Toyota. The…
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