It’s a cast of thousands!
The story opens with the driver of the 135 and …. whoosh! He thunders past, running roughshod over delicate concepts like ”full” and “bus stop.”
Here’s the operator of the 19, trying to run the red, but stopping short, his ass hanging out in the intersection -blocking pedestrian and car traffic- because an 8 and another 19 already lay claim to the curb ahead.
There’s Cubic, supposedly working on Compass. It’s coming, the stale signage assures, while the budget doubles and other cities abandon the system altogether.
Hey! Why settle for one CEO, when you can have two at twice the price?
There’s also the Board, Kevin Falcon’s gift-that-keeps-on-giving. These Faceless Ones put me in mind of Bill Hick’s routine about the Gideons: “Ever met one? No! Ever see one? NO! What are these people? Ninjas?” Ninjas -with monthly driving allowances.
And the oligarchs, of course. I imagine them perched on generously apportioned bundles of $500 bills, beady-eyed, salivating, ready to pounce. Ready to tear Broadway a borehole, to gut and annihilate and unleash the cranes on the remains.
Speaking of which, even “Expo Jimmy” makes a cameo. And nothing says guardian of the public good like the 86 year-old local chapter president of The Global Elite.
There’s a lot of Fifth Business in this tale, roles being neither Hero nor Heroine, Confidante nor Villain, but for that no (more or) less essential to bringing about the denouement.
And so, enter the Civic Officials, heralded by emails and a stale rehash of recent election tactics: “Will you pledge your support?” What’s with all the pledging? When did we start taking our cues from The Waltons?
But wait, there’s more: politicos and police chiefs, pundits and Podmores, plot twists and skullduggery. There’s a hockey player-turned shill, and a goddamn chorus, to boot.
There’s an admission price, of course. While it seems modest, those of means all appear to have comps.
Nah, I’ll pass. I prefer something with a stronger narrative, and more convincing characters.