As the 81 shifts gears and Earth and moon begin to recede behind us, it becomes increasingly clear that the bus driver has us on a course straight for the Sun. The 81's air conditioning appears to be holding up, although a passenger puts down his copy of El Diario and begins to fiddle with one of the windows. I suspect that this might be a bad idea since we are in outer space.
I make a mental note that the woman next to me checking the text messages on her cell phone is carrying a large bottle of water; that could come in handy when we get closer to the Sun. Amazingly, we appear to get service out here, albeit analog roam.
Did I mention that I get to ride free tonight? I tried to feed a dollar into the fare machine when I got on at Hill and Third, but the driver told me it "wasn't working" and directed me to have a seat.
At this point, we're pretty fuel efficient because, in space, you can mostly coast, and you rarely need to brake.
The guy in the dusty wife beater, leaning way back in his seat, looks pissed. He totally got on the wrong bus today.