There’s a “bus” in “busted”

Small dramas played out all around me on the bus to Cincinnati. The med student who’d bought a ticket for the wrong day and realized it only at that moment, with luggage in hand; the scrawny punk kid on his way to his ladyfriend, begging to be added at the last minute, he’d sit in the aisle if he had to; the two young African American women in the front row meticulously doing each others’ hair with curlers and pomade; the in-love hipsters who looked like they’d ordered themselves from Hipsters R’ Us and their one, less attractive companion who looked away while they made out at the rest stop.

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