Bloody men are like bloody buses
You wait for about a year
And as soon as one approaches your stop
Two or three others appear.
You look at them flashing their indicators,
Offering you a ride.
You're trying to read the destinations,
You haven't much time to decide.
If you make a mistake, there's no turning back.
Jump off, and you'll stand there and gaze
While the cars and the taxis and the lorries go by
And the minutes, the hours, the days.
[Via The Writer's Almanac]
[Image from Double Decker Bus to Brighton]