Amber Mile

The road past the depot has no lights of its own. Your bus rolls only onto asphalt it can see, and its headlamps reach one stretch ahead, so every bend waits in the dark until you light it. Set a sodium post on an iron lamp base by the verge and the curve glows amber. Aim a floodlamp down one branch of a junction and the driver takes that way; light both branches and the bus halts. Porch lanterns glow gently enough to leave sleeping cottages undisturbed, and a signal flare blazes once before burning out, which matters where roads loop back. Riders board only at a lit shelter. Each mile ends with a ticket punched for a full coach, a still village and sparing lamps, and its fares buy new rides at the all-night garage. Leave a deer in the glow, though, and it bolts straight into the lane.