At 60 and after the death of my wife, my daytime and dreamtime is peopled with those who ride my transit bus. Mostly poor and straggling, they are glad to see me. I like that. Some call me Frank, others Mr. Sloan. I see Mrs. Gaines waiting up ahead and know that means a struggle to get her into my bus. She’s cheerful though and that makes up for the loss of time. Riders depend on my schedule, you see, and I try not to disappoint them.
Birds on limb singing
Seasons they do come and go