But sometimes that just ain't enough to keep a man like him interested. Uh-uhn, no way, Oh NO, no, no, no!

Dyson had been catching the bus to work for years... the 172, from the corner of Leckie Rd and 6th Ave., but recently things had changed.

Dyson kissed his wife goodbye this morning and set off to the bus stop. As soon as he was out of sight of his wife he jumped the fence of the neighbour three doors down and slipped into their lawn shed. Out of his new, larger briefcase came glass slippers, a resplendent white gown, makeup and tiara. Dyson emerged from the lawn locker as Cinderella. All over the suburb the scene was being repeated. Princes, toads, toadies, stepsisters and ladies-in-waiting were flocking to the bus stops of the 172 route.

Waiting at the bus stop, the eager crowd thronged to the bus as it crested the rise. Decked out in the style of the 18th century court of Vienna, it was a sight to behold.

Yes, the bus had become a very popular way to travel since the transit authority had made those few changes. Now the buses cruised down the main street of the city at low speed, to satisfy the cheering multitudes.

Dyson was a hero, far more important than the actuarial clerk he had been in greyer times.