Greetings from the rockin-n-rollin Concord Coach Lines bus. Typing is quite difficult with this bumpiness so expect some exciting spellings. The bus is mostly empty this morning. Dawn (not me, the other one) is streaking the sky a gorgeous lemon yellow, but none of that glow has as of yet reached the bus, where it is still nighttime. T and I are in high spirits, which pleases and surprises us both (or at least me; maybe he is not surprised). Given the hallucinatory misery of our last trip to the city, I expected a certain PTSD gloom, but we are not in fact gloomy, though we wish were less bumpy. It was a good choice to pop some Dramamine. By my feet is a bag of breakfast: two bagel sandwiches from the Jewish deli. In my backpack is a fat paperback of Robertson Davies's Salterton trilogy--plenty of book to last me the entire trip. I'm going to stop writing this letter now because typing is too hard. Talk to you tomorrow.