In the seat in front of me, a Chinese man with graying hair is reading an instruction manual. No idea what those instructions are for. Beside me, an older woman reads a dusty hardcover with a hint of gild on the spine. An aging book matched to an aging woman. Me, I’m listening to rock and roll even though it’s morning and the drowsing sun begs something quieter. The young guy beside me is reading a novel. Sometimes he reads graphic novels, but not today. The man in the sweats and the yellow-stained ball cap covers his face with the paper. Nice to see that we’re all on the same page. Everyone knows that you don’t talk to your fellow daily bus riders. After all, that means you’ll have to talk to them tomorrow.