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To the editor:
When I was a child and stayed at my grandmother’s every Saturday morning, a big blue school bus would park on the street.
It was owned by a gentleman we children knew only as Mr. Charlie, his actual last name escapes me after all these years. He’d open the school bus doors and drop a little stairstep out.
He’d then give a telltale toot of the horn in a beep ba beep beep pattern that was the signal that he’d arrived. The bus had been re-fitted as a produce market on wheels.
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