The noon sun hurt; the empty Sunday road shimmered. The bus seemed a long time coming; but at last, trailing a hot brown fog, it came, a red Bombay double-decker, the lower part of its metal sides oily and dust-blown, with horizontal scratches, and oddly battered, like foil that had been crumpled and smoothed out.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
India: A Wounded Civilization - pg. 69
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