Riding the Bus My dearest, MS:
Has it occurred to anyone what we sacrifice? Some of us are forced to ride the bus home. Cramped between strangers. I would've easily picked you up in my Porsche, if I had one. I would've even had a driver follow me in your new lucid, the trunk full of Rolexes an ascots. Alas, we wait and we wait. Sometimes I wake up at night in a cold sweat, realizing that I'm not Thurston Howell the Third, the monopoly guy, or even the planters peanut guy. What I wouldn't do to dress like those guys. your glorious friend.