Where the rigs park every weekend--far corner of the hotel parking lot (parkin glot, as I sometimes spell it), the corner closest to me--sits bright and empty in its yellow lines. One rig takes up eleven or twelve spaces. Most of the time the bus or semi is left to idle, as if were the driver to shut it down, six months of deep freeze would descend, or the vehicle's vital fluids would seize.
I've taken to interviewing the drivers, finding out what made them do it--agree to park a bus, and open one door, and walk around, pulling at compartments, smoking.
(Note re what not to wear when interviewing bus drivers: hoodies with the hood up, when they're wearing blazers and ties.)
2 comments:
Beaver is a pretty weird name for a bus line.
It's a ratty old bus, muddy around the edges. A nuisance on the road.
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