“Beckwith Road” muttered the faceless passenger. Yet another ten minute companion on Colin’s route. Only the sixteenth of the week, five days in. Colin had become acutely aware of the most mundane statistics in his time driving the Alderburn to Chesterside bus – the treble zero, perfectly fitting to one of the most straightforward and uninteresting routes man had ever devised. Driving the almost completely straight forty-two mile road between the two villages did not provide much mental stimulation, and Colin had neither the inclination nor imagination to entertain himself with the passengers. A nameless mass to him, each could have had scales and fins without raising an eyebrow.

Colin was hoping to take no passengers today with such miserable weather, but this one seemed insistent on riding, untroubled by his driver’s dishevelled appearance and the strong smell of scotch.

“Beckwith Road in Chesterside please.”

“I heard you” Colin slurred in response.