"What a Difference a Bus Makes"

     I am a lazy, no account artist, so my first appointment of the day is at noon. I regularly have sketches and designs to do for clients, so I am known to frequent the shop at all hours.
   Since taking the bus, I have marveled at many things seen therein, but I had wrongly assumed that all buses and bus rides were created equal. Not so. 
   A certain cat I know, takes the train to work and while there are a number of characters to be sure, I always perceived the train to be a step up. Bourgeois fare for the mass transit set. A level buses could only aspire to. But today I stepped into a whole new world.

     The nine o'clock bus is one I've missed in my travels. Ones before, crowded with commuters of all ilk, later ones practically empty, or scattered with weirdos and stragglers. Everyone on the early bus rushing into the city for the daily grind; worker bees preparing to wait on the city's masses. The latter ones serving to cart around the slackers as they trickled in. But this was the 9:10, a unique entity. The sweet spot in the schedule.
   This bus wasn't filled with losers or blue-collared cattle, no, no, this bus had style. I would hang out with the people on this bus. They weren't here because they had to be, they were here because they chose to be. Urbanite travelers on the lumbering blood cells of the city's arterial veins.
   They all knew each other and hugged their hellos, smartly dressed with beverages in tow.
   "What are you doing on my bus?" A rider asked of his estranged friend. They knew who belonged on this bus and who didn't. It was a well coutured crowd of movers and shakers that were carriaged into town at this time. Only after the help scurried in to prepare, did they make their way into the city. Suddenly, I felt like an interloper. I was the rabble on this bus. Arriving at my stop, bewildered and under-dressed, I exited, vowing to return and find my purchase in this newly discovered secret society.