Collecting characters

I took a bus and the conductor had no legs.
When we pulled into any bus stop, the union touts would approach the bus to extort money from the bus. He would stick his head out of the window and once they saw it was him, they would nod, apologetic, and slink away. “Sorry, we didn’t know it was you.”

I put down the book I was reading and scribbled in my notebook. He was perched on the ledge facing me. He reached out and picked the book up from my lap. He was wearing fingerless gloves. He flipped through the book, read the back cover then started asking questions about the book, about where and when it was set.

I answered. He nodded as the bus slowed down again, dumped the book back in my lap and swung to the door. One muscular arm suspended him from the door frame, the other hand held out two fingers in a peace sign as he shouted, “Mile 2.”

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