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(Illustration by Tim Carroll)

My first trip on a Greyhound bus wasn’t planned. In western New Mexico, my aging sedan had broken down, and the mechanic said the delivery of parts and repair would add up to a week out of commission. I left him the car keys, caught a ride to the flea market that served as the Greyhound stop, and boarded a bus bound for Flagstaff to wait out the repairs.

 

Published in TRAVEL
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