The token slips a bit as she pinches it between her clammy fingers, her hand deep within the pocket of her quilted, polyester smock. Betty Sue has one last token chance. The bus is pulling out in exactly five minutes, and she’ll be punching her time card in thirty. Peering over her glasses, she slides the token in the slot and slams the button with her fist, like a gavel to the bench. Bells jingle, reels spin and settle, and a lusty whistle blasts like a freight train coming. The bus horn honks furiously, as Betty Sue’s eyes go wide.