My favorite seat on the Greyhound is the front one directly to the right of the driver. It’s not a prize easily won as you have to beat the grannies at their own game. They’ve packed the night before and arrived three hours early. Like blue-haired llamas, they can stand for long periods of time. And they know you’re gunning for the same place. Upon securing the coveted spot they’ll put their Harrods tote bag on the empty seat beside them. You’re left to wend your way back through the unwashed as the bus starts its milk run to Sudbury.
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