The more I stare at Mr. Driver, the worrieder I get. I also see that he is losing some chunks from the appendage which look like bristle-fuzzed blue caterpillars. And they are creepy crawling all over his bulging uniform. My examination is interrupted by a slam on the brakes by Mr. Driver. He wraps his cartoon hands around his facial appendage and squeezes like he's wringing out a Jay-Cloth.
All passengerial eyes turn towards the commotion.
It seems that someone has cut off Mr. Driver's bus while undergoing a U-turn. So says Mr. Driver as he gives his trunk another small pinch. I worry-muse the driver doesn't really know where he's going. All he does is caroom about in circles, taking us to work and back. We travel in ellipses.