阅读理解（七）
（1）
Last July, my 12-year-old car died on California’s Santa Ana Freeway. It was an hour before sunset, and I was 25 miles from home. I couldn’t reach anyone to pick me up, so I decided to take a bus. Not knowing the routes, I figured I’d just head east.
A bus pulled up, and I asked the driver how far she was going. “Four more lights,” s he said. There was another bus I could take from there. This clearly was going to be a long night.
She dropped me off at the end of her route and told me which bus to look for. After waiting 30 minutes, I began to think about a very expensive taxi ride home. Then a bus pulled up. There was no lighted number above its windshield(挡风玻璃). It was out of service. But the door opened, and I was surprised to find that it was the same driver.
“I just can’t leave you here,” she s aid. “This isn’t the nicest place. I’ll give you a ride home.”
“You’ll drive me home in the bus?” I asked, perplexed(困惑).
“No, I’ll take you in my car,” she said.
