Eloise sat at the bus stop and lit another cigarette. She had lost count of the number she had smoked that morning, but since it was now nearly sunrise she believed it was around six. She checked her watch; it was still an hour until the bus was due.
The red Mondeo pulled up at the bus stop and the window slid down.
“Need a ride?” the man asked, his face covered by the darkness of the interior.
“Bus is due,” Eloise replied.
“Sure,” the man said and set off.
“Bus is due to crash in two hours,” Eloise breathed.