The bus was barreling down University Avenue in the center lane like a bat out of Hell or a driver behind schedule. I watched it for a couple seconds before realizing the driver had no intention of stopping for us. In what I thought would be a vain attempt to flag it down, I stepped out towards the street and peered into the windshield. Much to my surprise, 40' and a few tons of metal and plastic was hastily brought to a stop near us with the front doors only about 5' from the concrete pad at the stop.
Considering how quickly the bus had slowed down and pulled over, I boarded expecting to see a couple people picking themselves off the floor and a bloody nose or 2.
The driver was a middle-aged fellow. He looked Polish, or maybe just Slavic, to me. His face was thin, mildly gaunt, maybe, weathered with lines etched in it. He looked to me like a guy you'd see in a photograph of the resistance from the Warsaw Uprising.
I missed a few words that he had rattled off to another passenger but he turned and looked at me and sagely noted, "It's five o'clock somewhere."
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