It wasn’t rainy, windy or dead of night, but it was a bus not stopping for the little old lady waiting at the bus stop, in the late dusk at 6:30 pm. So, from my seat at the window, I didn’t call out, I yelled, ‘Sir, there’s a lady that wants to board’. Having yelled it loud enough, others took up the cry, and the driver brought the bus to a halt, a few feet away from the curb, and further up the block. Another little old lady already on board began to scold him for not pulling up the the curb originally, but I felt vindicated for having been passed by last week. [If bustop were thusly spelled, would everyone still understand?]