I had a dream for the first time in weeks. It pulled me out of sleep this morning. In the dream, I was sitting outside an Internet cafe in a foreign country, waiting for someone.

“Will it run?”
“It might.”
“What year is it?”
“’94.”
“Good, it’s two years younger than me. Plenty of life.”

I start to think about the kids that rode this bus as I peel back the rubber floor mats, their things left behind emerging from the pencil shavings and grime.