The Murder Bus Tales

The man sitting next to me is having a rough day. Bleary-eyed, shirt untucked, hair in mild disarray: He looks like life is moving faster than he’d like. Apparently, he thinks so as well; he’s reading a piece of Jehovah’s Witness literature on “How to Take Control of Your Life.” He’s sucking down his second beer with obvious relish, and it’s enough to make me think about getting a pint. But I won’t. Because we’re on a bus, and it’s 6:45 in the morning. Just another day on Foothill Transit, Line 187: the Murder Bus.