The 1:30 From Lisbon
“Our driver is kind of a jerk,” seat 22 said. That was our hero he was talking about, so I didn’t know how I felt about that. Because twenty minutes ago, our driver had been the one who greeted us when we—sweaty, tired, overheated—had finally found the bus, five minutes late. “It’s your lucky day,” the driver growled, as he climbed down from his seat, with zero desire to help us, in order to open the baggage compartment. Three hours…
