The Street of Rubia

I took the last bus ride home, hoping to steal a few winks. Five minutes in and my hopes were already dashed by an old lady at the back who kept on asking the driver to stop at the 'Street of Rubia'.
I got irritated by this old lady's persistent demand; her way of calling Rubia Street as 'Street of Rubia' doesn't help at all. I tried to rationalize the situation: she's an old lady riding a bus home in the dead of the night. I can understand that she's paranoid about her stop.
So like a good kid, I did my best not to face her throughout our commute to Rubia Street. I'd rather take this one in stride than blurt out mean words I can't ever take back.
We were approaching Rubia Street when the driver asked if someone's getting off at Rubia Street. I rolled my eyes. What a classy way to handle an annoying passenger: ridicule her.
However, there was no response. I noticed that the old lady stopped muttering a few minutes before we reached Rubia Street. The driver called out again. Still, there was no response.
"Is somebody getting off at the 'Street of Rubia'?" the driver asked after we stopped at Rubia Street.
It got a few chuckles from the passengers until the driver turned, his face red with annoyance.
He stood up to check the back of the bus and froze halfway, his face stark-white. One by one, we turned towards the back of the bus to see what it's all about.
Then I understood.
There was no old lady on the bus.
Category:Ghosts
Category:Places
Category:Micropasta