Foreword I
This is not my story.
I am only the momentary caretaker of the story. It is one of those stories that drops in someone’s lap without warning. Except, in my case, it made its appearance by being underfoot.
A recent transplant to the Twin Cities, I had been warned by a friend that January and February were bitterly cold, and buses were less dependable on those frigid days. His advice: just buy a decent car and an engine block heater and plug the car in at night so it would start the next day. That way, he said, I wouldn’t find myself standing in twenty-below wind chills waiting for a bus that may or may not come.
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