I drove the same bus route for nine years. Route 12. Forty-one stops. One hour and eight minutes end to end if the lights cooperate, which they don't. You see the same people every day on a bus route. They don't know you notice but you notice everything. The woman who does her makeup between stops 4 and 9. The teenager who falls asleep and always wakes up exactly one stop before his. The man in the yellow tie who gets on at stop 17 and gets off at stop 23 and always looks like he's already late. And then there was the old man at stop 31. Every morning at 6:47. Never a minute early, never a minute late. Small guy, big coat regardless of the weather, always carrying a paper bag from the bakery two blocks away. He'd get on, pay cash — always exact change, always ready — and ride to stop 38. Seven stops. Maybe twelve minutes. He'd get off and walk toward the park. Every single day for six years I watched him do this. We had an understanding. I'd open the doors an...