I could feel the combined heat of the people crammed in behind my back, as if I had my back to a campfire. The running boards creaked and the body rocked gently as more crammed in. The compressor chugged underfloor. The conductor, Norm, was flat out selling tickets.

The light turned green. In the dim light of the cramped cab, I checked in the mirror that the safety zone was clear and clanged the gong. I glanced quickly at the manometer and released the brakes. I put the handle into the first notch, then second, then cut power.

The bogies clattered as we went over the crossover. The trolley pole arced and the lights flashed on and off. The window frames rattled in their frames, and so did the doorway blinds, and the passengers hung on for dear life. Then we were clear again, and I applied power.

We were surrounded by a sea of motor vehicles, or rather a sea of their glowing red taillights; I could smell their acrid exhaust. Not that we were going to catch up to them. I had the controller in full parallel, and the growl of the worn gears and the hum of the motors was deafening, enough to almost drown out the hubbub of the passengers, but still she refused to budge from anything other than a leisurely pace.

She had a dreadful case of the flats on top of that as well. The thunk-thunk-thunk resonated throughout the whole of the old wooden body, and was approaching unbearable.

A Big Car passed us on the Up track. How I envied the driver. Anything but this bomb.