Eli had driven the 9:40 down Marrow Street for thirty-one winters. Now the depot was retiring the route with him. Seven nights left, then the bus stopped forever. On this first night, sleet came down hard. As he pulled from the stop, he saw an old woman in a red coat running for it, too late. Hand on the lever, Eli stopped. He never waited. Not once in thirty-one years. But he idled there, doors open, watching her run.

Just as the woman reached the door, a younger man in a depot jacket stepped off the curb. It was Marcus, the supervisor, doing a surprise ride-along. He'd seen the whole thing. 'You waited,' Marcus said flatly, climbing aboard behind her. 'You know the rule.' Eli's stomach dropped.

Marcus stared at Eli for a long moment, then looked at the old woman shivering in her seat. Something in his face changed. He sat down quietly and said nothing. For the rest of the ride, he just watched how Eli drove, how he knew every passenger by name.

By the end of the route, Marcus stood and shook Eli's hand. 'Thirty-one years,' he said quietly. 'I came to write you up. Instead I learned how this job's supposed to be done.' He tore his notepad page in half. 'Drive your last week your way, Eli.'