Larry sprints, breath ragged, hands clawing at the air. The 7A bus looms ahead, taillights red as a warning. He leaps—missing by inches. The driver, a grizzled man with a mustache like a bristling hedgehog, yawns. “You’re late, Lemonhead.” Larry groans. “I’ve been trying for three hours!” The bus door closes with a hiss. Larry’s sneakers squeak on the wet pavement. He sprints again, but the bus is gone. The driver’s laughter echoes. “Next stop: Nowhere.”
