Waiting for Gouda

Today is horrifically cold. The sort of cold that makes you want to kill the next person you see and bathe in their warm blood before it freezes. It makes waiting for the bus that much more pleasant.

Apparently, the next phase in the Chicago Transit Authority’s grand scheme to make it impossible to actually get anywhere within city limits in timely fashion, is to hire nearly dead people. I’m fairly certain that the only way my bus driver for this evening could possibly have negotiated his route more slowly is if he had expired. The combined age of the bus and the driver had to be about 110.

And the bus was from about 1990.

I could tell because it had ripped jeans and was listening to Fine Young Cannibals.