FOR THE SPIRIT OF JOY
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“Watch out!”
Joy yanked the startled, young man away from the kerb as the bus doors hissed closed in a burst of heat just inches from his face and wafted back his dark, glossy quiff like a shampoo advert. The vehicle lurched away with a whine, its pursed-lipped driver tapping a temple and shaking his head.
The rescuee looked at Joy, then frowned up at the laughing seagulls, before pointing at the travel agent’s window behind them–filled with huge images of tropical beaches, city-scapes and the Statue of Liberty.
“I wanted to be taken there,” he explained, in a foreign accent that Joy, for all of her glob-al travels, couldn’t quite place. “But that driver was … rude!”
Joy smiled-he had to be a day-tripper from the Supported Living Centre. She looked around.“Is there someone with you, hon? Are you lost?”
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