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Patience My Dear: Your Bus is Coming

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It was 6:35 p.m. on Market Street in Manchester. I was sat at the bus stop waiting for the 62 that would drop me a quarter mile from Granny’s house. I had a lot of bags and very little patience. I had been out all day and just wanted to get home, have a bowl of rib and dumpling soup, and relax. The West Indies was playing India that evening and I had promised Grandad I would watch the cricket with him. I had things to do and the bus was already 7 minutes later...

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