Have a seat, my good friend. Welcome to the bus stop. Kind of a dreary day, isn't it? Perhaps the sky above you is threatening rain.
Maybe the bleak chill has led you to this bench for a warm cup of coffee and a nice story to accompany it.
No?
A refreshing glass of iced tea might be in order.
Yes?
In any event, here we are. The Greyhound sitting in front of us is not our bus. Oh, no. It is filled with very regular people, on their way to very usual destinations. The driver looks to be a respectable man. He appears to have his wits about him. I'm positive nothing of any consequence will be happening on that bus. It will likely make all of the proper stops, loading and unloading its patrons in a timely fashion.
I'm sure it's quite nice.
We'll be waiting for the next one.
The bus we'll be taking has two flat tires and an odd smell emanating from inside. The driver, a bipolar man named Hank, has only one tooth and a tendency to fall asleep. Chickens can be heard arguing from somewhere unseen, but the cowboy giving the Martian a pedicure will likely distract you. Please pay no attention to the bearded prostitute.
So, climb on in and get comfortable. I think there's room between the midget and the lady with Tourette's syndrome.
There's no catching up with the normal bus now.
Anyway, we'll be going the other direction.

