Rusty Buckets

Today I road with a new bus driver. A lot of them are generic old men I have a hard time distinguishing, but today, I was chauffered by Rusty Buckets, an old-tyme Pioneering man's man. The red flannel jacket and scruffy beard smelled of fresh wood chips from an evening of building new cabins. His retro "potential bank theif" sunglasses added a tinge of urban tolerance. The grovel in his voice was only mocked by the poor shocks that jolted his chair every time we hit a bump.