The chorus of the bus
I do not know why some people / can not stand / when the bus they are waiting for / just doesn’t come Until recently all the buses that used to take me to my house and bring me back the following day, to downtown and the bustle of the city, were blue. My dear P12 or P16. Their names, more than bus routes, reminded me of a vitamin supplement. Some of them ask: the last one? / Others do not get in line / and some people sometimes disrespect/ an old lady