On how Buses escape all time
Ordinarily a bus driver is only important to the few people on the bus. He or she is a temporary role model, somone only immulated while on the bus or perhaps spied from a corner, content, smoking a cigar. Of course the authority of a bus driver can be written over quite easily. A gun, a screw driver, can easily over turn the driver’s authority.
Such trifles though can not stop the dedicated from crossing class lines.
A bus is a composite of locations. Somewhere that is never quite there, but rather exists in transit. Sure buses have final locations, but for a set period they simply act as if they go on infinitely. The experience of a bus, the imagination of the thing and the meaning of it requires negligence, a bus is like a bad mother always forgetting the truth so she can tell the truth to her passengers: that she never stops and neither should you. The bus is an inner city phenoumena, aided in the illusion of its always on structure by a mirage of duplicants. In that manor it is like any other word.