I pulled a four-year-old bus ticket from my coat and was back on my granddaughter’s first ride. No top deck adventure, downstairs only, the steps were bad enough, and worse with a two-year-old. Rain freckles on the window, her nose to the glass, a small hand guarding the bell. The driver clocked the nerves, gave a kind nod, and we rumbled through town at pram speed. The stub goes back in the pocket, and the timetable stays in memory.