Last Bus to Translation by Al McDermid

Last Bus to Translation by Al McDermid From the diner, the report sounded like a gun shot. I turned to see an old greyhound bus rolling into Clyde’s station, one of its back right tires obviously blown. The door opened and some of the passengers filed out, stretching. “Looks like the town going to grow some,” Rosie said from behind the counter. “Yep,” I said, “looks that way.” The driver came in, sat at the counter, and ordered a coffee. “First the detour, then this,” he said. “Guess it’s just going to be one of those days.” “You have no idea,” I said. Rosie glared at me and silently mouthed ‘stop it’ but she was smiling. The driver looked about to say something but was interrupted when one of his passengers came in, a young blond girl in a full-on Hippie Chick get-up, who headed immediately for the restroom. Was that look back in style? “Never mind him,” Rosie said. “He’s just like that. Clyde will have you fixed up in no time.” The driver finished his coffee and headed out, getting to the bus just as Clyde was finishing up. He herded his passengers aboard, turned the bus around, and was heading down the road when Hippie Girl came running out of the restroom. “Oh man,” she said, obviously exasperated. “I knew that driver wanted to ditch me.” “Don’t worry, Hon,” Rosie said. “He’ll be back. Say, you want some pie?”

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