Look now for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing … O rest beside the weary toad and hear the angels sing … Old buses always seem to run faster on the way home, and most of the time, the road always seems to stay the same.
No traffic, no cops, no crack-heads to clean my windshield.
Here we go, another attempt in communicating many deep thoughts, and, I’m afraid to say, quite a few shallow ones as well. All the coaches have fired up, slowly pushed the needle up to full air pressure and departed. Not a living mosquito in sight.
Big buses and the people who drive them.
Nothing for the girls here today, sorry, this is just a little bus porn for the guys and a weekend project for the ambitious who want to style on the boulevard and look good doing it.
Being as I am terminally afflicted with a modern illness termed “Road Rage” it is often that I have to self diagnose myself and quickly take measures to protect not only myself, but also the general public at large. This morning, I am cruising down the boulevard; all is well in my world.
Traffic is light, most of it has cleared out, and the road for the most part is quite empty. I am pleased, I chuckle and think, “If I was any happier I would have to pay an amusement tax.”
When I travel, I usually take a few shots, to share with the boys at home. Most of you do that right? One good measure of communication, is the photo, something to help the piece along.