18 July 2005


First Instincts Are Usually Correct

We boarded the bus despite our reservations about its worn tires and rattling engine. Within a few miles the driver veered away from familiar roads and a creeping coldness invaded the bus and our bones. We huddled against each other and shivered. The landscape outside the windows was purple, desolate, and dry. Eventually the bus stopped. The driver stood and faced us. Passengers, he said, we all need a break. I suggest you get something to eat. He stepped off the bus and fell into the ground. We never saw him again. The bus was our home for many years.

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