The few people sitting on the bus swamp the cab with muddied silence. The seats and windows shake with every small bump in the ragged pavement, jostling the passengers back and forth. The air conditioning pumps through only a few filters, whistling with the extreme pressure. It smells slightly of diluted gas. As the world slides by the window, there are small movements from amongst the passengers. Someone shifts in their seat, there's a little cough and a mild 'bless you'. The brakes squeak and everyone lurches forward as the bus comes to a stop. Outside, a woman drops her cigarette, smothers it with her foot, and steps inside, dropping a quarter in to the plastic box and blowing the last breath full of smoke in the driver's face, who swats it away in her direction as she walks down the aisle. The doors close with a gasp of air and the bus lurches on, repeating its eternal pattern of stops and gos, turning down its routine corners, and failing to avoid the ditches carved in the blacktop.