“The bus’s wipers slapped out of synch, like poorly rehearsed ballroom dancers, arms of a neophyte swimmer dogpaddling, wobbling grocery-cart wheel and its unencumbered mate.” — Dennis Vickers Copy Share Image
“The wind howled about the bus, and the wipers slooshed heavily back and forth across the windshield, smeering the city into a red and yellow neon wetness. It was early afternoon, but it looked like night through the glass” — Neil Gaiman Copy Share Image
