The Midnight Route

For anyone else, the assignment was a chore, something to be avoided at all costs. They traded it away, paid people to take it. But Phil liked the graveyard shift. He liked the quiet. He liked driving the bus at night when no one else was on the street. In the solitude, the city belonged to him and his hulking bus. There were hardly ever any fares and that was fine with him. He felt sorry for the drivers that get the day shifts. They had rush hour to deal with. They had obnoxious drivers that cut you off, double-parked cars to maneuver around, the smell of a crowded bus of people, depressed and angry riders. Night time was perfect. It was just him, the bus, and the stars up above.