Ordinary language is all right.
One could divide humanity into two classes:
those who master a metaphor, and those who hold by a formula.
Those with a bent for both are too few, they do not comprise a class.
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One of my most precipitous trips home dragged on forever: that night that we snuck an awful lot of wine from the storage closet. Unable to ride it out, I had to bang on the back door and holler insistently to the driver who wouldn't let me trample over the little snow fence set up in Como Park. As I spilled out the back door I voided the contents of my stomach all over the snow. The air the rest of the way home couldn't be cold enough.
If you bus then you are probably a school district, a public transit company, a municipality. But there are those who 'bus it', even those who say transitively that they are gonna bus it over to the, from the to the, in from the, until they get their, because it's.
'walking to and from various buses and places to be in between the buses'
Buses where the routes are colors seem friendly.
On boozier holidays they give you rides for free, not trips.
Metro Transit calls my rides trips. But half of them take me home. I'm not taking a trip home. I'm just going there.
Whereas to the other passengers, one who boards with a bike must seem unhappy.
To a person with a car, the idea of a transfer is almost absurd: you're going to ride two buses?!
The tactics of seat ownership. Staking and quitting a claim, policing, keeping watch, ceding, accommodating, allowing. Modes of circumspection broadcasting indifference. Ways of enacting the narrative of a journey with a meager repertoire of slumps, focusless absorption, straightenings, and recognizing glances, from within what is in reality forty minutes of sitting.