One day, Peter-Bowman awoke knowing that he must take a bus. His knowing was unfortunately unspecific about which bus he should take, but the need to take a bus flowed deeply in his veins. He stood outside his phone box for some time examining buses as they went past. They all looked very exciting to him. He had somehow rediscovered his meaning of life, and it was to be excited by buses. Peter-Bowman could not believe how unexcited he had been by buses in the past. So much he had missed out on. It was clear that travelling on buses was a major work of life that it was essential he take part in. Otherwise he might miss out. Peter-Bowman gradually realised that he could not catch a bus from his phone box. He could call a taxi, but buses were obviously a form of beast more magical than that that could not be summoned at will. He made his way down the street asking everybody 'Are you waiting for a bus?' Many people said 'No.' When he discovered a group of people who consistently said 'Yes!' no matter how many times he asked, Peter-Bowman knew he had discovered a bus. He stood with the waiting group politely.

In time a bus came along and stopped. Peter-Bowman was astounded. He had expected some form of acrobatics was required to enter a bus, and here one was puffing and snorting patiently in front of him. It was rather miraculous. Who would think that a bus could just stop and wait solely for him to embark? Such miracles deserved some form of thanksgiving, and he began a merry song and dance to whatever gods happened to be in the immediate vicinity. The bus disappeared before he could complete his thanksgiving. As a result he learned that buses don't believe in miracles. It was a sad moment for Peter-Bowman. Shortly after that, a 288 came along, and he got on with limited singing.

Peter-Bowman found himself sitting near the front of the bus, in a seat facing an old man. The old man leant forward.

'Old man,' said Peter-Bowman. 'I have just had a rather nasty shock. I have discovered that buses do not enjoy singing and dancing. Please do not pile more sorrow upon me at this time.'

'I would not want to do that young friend. It strikes me that you are on a journey.'

Peter-Bowman thought that the old man must be a little mad. 'Yes. The bus moves forward, it takes me to new places.'

'Ah. I thought you might have moved further than that by now, dear one. It seems that you are moving very slowly.'

'Are you calling me stupid?'

'And what if I am?'

'I would have to attack you in some manner.'

'Yes. Very slow.' The old man sunk back into his chair like a seal. 'Let me tell you something ... What is it?'

'The bus seems to have stopped.' Peter-Bowman looked out the window at a frozen world. 'Or something.'

'Something, indeed. It doesn't matter.' The old man took advantage of the occasion to draw heavily on the pipe he accidentally held in his hand. 'I expect the no smoking signs are out of order for the time being.'

'Did you do this?' Peter-Bowman found himself longing to begin moving passengers at random around the bus, rearranging them to give them a new perspective on their journey when time began to flow again.

'No. It's simply a handy coincidence. Time often stands still. It's well know for it. It seems that for some reason you aren't standing still with it, as usually happens. I expect it's something cosmic. Go ahead. It might be useful.'

Peter-Bowman took this as license to stand and begin changing the configuration of the frozen bus. At first he was hesitant. He moved a couple such that the man was in the aisle, the woman gazing adoringly out the window. It seemed to him that that more accurately reflected their relationship. Then he grew more bold. He moved the lonely looking guy next to the lonely looking woman. Their eyes happened to meet if he set them in just the right position. He stood up the loud mouthed obnoxious man who'd been yelling at the lady driver the whole trip in just such as way a to guarantee he'd fall down the stairs. Peter-Bowman grabbed the lady with the legs and placed her in the seat next to him. Then he stopped.

'This isn't right, is it?'

The old man on the bus raised his eyebrows. Peter-Bowman found himself growing amazingly tired. He blinked at the old man. Everything went black.

And Peter-Bowman was back in his phone box thinking of the meaning.