It was around midnight and we were forming the last Down service to West Coburg. There was not a soul on board. We were stopped at the intersection with Victoria St, having just let out the last passenger. I drummed my fingers impatiently on the dashboard, and the Norm was counting up the takings for the day. It was a warm night; the interior was still rather stuffy from the evening peak, and I had the doors open.

A group of men in a Monaro pulled up next to us. The driver leaned out of the open car window.

'Is that one of them new Clockwork Oranges?'

'Yep,' I yelled from the cab.

'How fast does it go?'

'Dunno, about 70, they say.'

The guy smirked. 'No way. I bet you ten bucks it can't.'

'I bet you fifteen that it can,' Norm countered, joining in the conversation.

'Deal,' the driver yelled back.

There was pretty much zero chance of another passenger for the rest of the route, not at this time of the night. And so I agreed as well.