Michigan & Chicago

Spencer sat with his knees together, his briefcase across his lap. He checked his phone: the bus was now seven minutes late, but he was too embarrassed to ask the woman on the opposite side of the backless bench if this was typical. She looked remarkably comfortable in her banana-yellow tracksuit, bobbing her head with the song pouring from her iPods. After five more minutes, however, he mustered the courage to say, “Excuse me, is bus 147 normally this late?” “The 147?” replied the woman, more concerned than annoyed, “This is for the 66. Your stop’s around the corner.”