bus pass

My bus driver’s name is Donny. He drives the West 11th Street route during the day. When I see him round the corner, I rush out the door and jog in the direction of the bus stop. He slows down to pick me up before I get there.

Today, the conversation on the bus was about winter vacation, presents, guns, and war. The regulars are quite witty.

“Why can’t we get out of the War in Iraq as quick as we did the War on Poverty?”