The old man hobbled down the steps and onto the pavement when the bus finally made its stop. As the doors closed he stood on the sidewalk for sometime, waving back at Fritz and Zooey, who could have only been ghosts to him.

Fritz turned back to Zooey, “He really did think it was 1973.”

“Told you he was awesome,” Zooey said childishly.

“Where are we going anyway?” Fritz asked.

“This bus goes to Union Square,” Zooey said, “We can get off and cross over to Mel’s Diner.”

“How American Graffitti of us…” Fritz trailed off as he watched the lights inside the bus flicker everytime they made a stop at a light.

“Don’t you just love riding the bus?” Fritz asked.

Zooey had her head tipped against the window as she watched the city move by in slow motion.

“Yeah,” she said, “it’s actually kind of comforting, its like our equivilant of watching television, except we’re really seeing the world through our own eyes, instead of how other people imagine it to be…”