I looked out through the window at the bus where the old man was
cranking the gas pump counting the profits on ten gallons of gas. The
bus itself was battered and scarred, the red and yellow paint flaking
off the sides. It was filled with adults--most of them young--and a
sprinkling of kids.
"Some kind of outing?"
He laughed. "That's right. The Young People's League from the Methodist
Church in Winook."
"Hard group to keep entertained, huh?"