From A Year’sDreams (2008):

 

August 9

I was a younger man – poor – single – in the city.  I needed a car, and found a large ancient rusted and battered van for sale very cheap.  It even had a toilet in the back.  I knew my parents would find this purchase odd but I thought it was a great deal (maybe it was free). A couple of young women near me were also enjoying it.

Then, out with it on the streets of a big daytime sunlit city.  The van became a small bus, and I’d got a job as a sort of free-lance bus driver (my bus was the van, still shabby and rusted). I picked up people at corners, got stuck in various ways and places, people called out in annoyance or gave advice. I didn’t know the city, or at least this part of it.  At last stopped and let out my disgusted passengers.  One who’d been kind, a young tourist, stayed with me.  He and two friends (one in a black velvet cutaway coat) were out to see religious shrines connected to their faith.  “If I could find the Shrine of Our Lady of Loreto,” I said, “I could get oriented, and know where I should go.”  But – they said – that’s far away, up on the top of a hill.  Did I mean that shrine? (pointing to a sort of Moorish-looking building). No, I said, that’s Temple Immanuel.

But we were now standing in front of a small white marble building  -- shrine to some lay saint-like figure -- and I thought this was maybe the place I had meant.  The sweet young Christian tourists and I went in. A person who welcomed us there – old, with an affect like Morgan Freeman – told me I wasn’t done with bus driving.  From an ancient printer in a dark office he produced a paper – my route! Now I'll know where to go, what turns to take on what streets.  I told the Christian (his friends were gone) that I am very bad at directions – he said he’d guide me (!). 

We set out.  I thought maybe I could become just a gypsy bus and keep all the fares, but decided that would be wrong, and probably I’d be caught at it anyway.