Marina Karassellos
Ceramics
8.25x14x7.25
 
Rose, 72, pulls the bus through the fractured streets of Flint, a strand of pearls nestled against her starched collar. Her rule is simple: "You can't be a proper lady driving a bus if you aren't dressed for it." She insists the bus itself is haunted. The kids, at first skeptical, now point out the cold spots, the phantom tapping, and the strange, whispered song only Rose can hear. She carries a small, ancient tuning fork, ringing it softly at each stop to appease the spirits she believes are simply looking for a ride home.