Stop 1: Fairbanks Road to Webster Circle – A low traffic section of the route. Under average conditions, allowing for non-rush hour boarding and deboarding, this section of the route should take four minutes.

Stop 2: Webster Circle to Union Street – Impassable.

Stop 3: Union Street to Walk Hill Street – It depends on your definition of “impassable.” Since the Postal Service was disbanded and PCP was legalized on the same day, roving bands of rival mail carriers seem to behead each other a lot in this area. I guess I’m saying it depends on any given driver’s tolerance for driving around severed heads.

Stop 4: Walk Hill Street to Aspinwall Avenue – Definitely impassable. You don’t want to know. Let’s just leave it at this: it has something to do with the 14th Amendment no longer applying to the states, child labor in anthracite mines, and that pulsating orb that reads minds found in the basement of the Federal Reserve before they blew it up. Connect the dots—but, please, for Christ’s sake, don’t drive the bus down here.

Stop 5: Aspinwall Avenue to Edgewood Street – Prone to long delays. Many former EPA employees lived in this area before the Agency was shut down. They continue to wander the streets, confused, asking people if they’ve seen any gray wolves around. They will cause traffic backups. They might get on the bus and ask if it goes to Chlorofluorocarbon Boulevard. Instruct the bus drivers to just say yes to any questions like this—it won’t matter what the driver says anyway. The cognitive functions of the EPA zombies no longer operate as a result of drinking trichloroethylene like it was fucking ginger ale since Inauguration Day to stay alive. Instead of paying the fare in our new currency of gold doubloons, they might try to pay with shredded slips of the Clean Water Act. To avoid even longer delays, instruct drivers to just take them.

Stop 6: Edgewood Street to The Eternal Gasoline Fire Pit Where the Interstate Used to Be – Inform the driver to use caution. He should start applying the brakes well before the edge of the pit is visible. If he waits until its flames enter his sight, it will be too late. The cannibal refugees from what was once South Dakota have booby-trapped its charred earthen ring. Do not stare into the abyss where the Wendy’s drive-thru once stood. Who could have foreseen that when an executive order closed the Department of Education a vortex would open into a 5th dimension land of mist and pain? The bus will be pulled into the molten hellfire, and the half-humanoid South Dakotans will feast on the desiccated flesh of each screaming soul unfortunate enough to be caught on the bus. Plus, the 11A will then be hopelessly behind schedule.

Stop 7: The Eternal Gasoline Fire Pit Where the Interstate Used to Be to The Acrid Smoke Engulfed Quadrant Where the Sun No Longer Penetrates – Oh dear God, no.

Stop 8: The Acrid Smoke Engulfed Quadrant where the Sun No Longer Penetrates to The Center for Disease Control Headquarters (Defunct) – We shouldn’t be stopping here. One week after the CDC was “turned over to the states”, New Hampshire weaponized the mumps. I know. It doesn’t make any sense. But hey, “50 little laboratories”!

Stop 9: The Center for Disease Control Headquarters (Defunct) to Doug Stanhope Boulevard – Assuming that strand of “airborne arthritis-AIDS” hasn’t leaked out from the smoking shell of the CDC and overtaken the bus (as you know, “airborne arthritis-AIDS” has developed the ability to hate), this bit should be a piece of cake. All six of our quadrillionaire overlords live on this stretch of the route—it’s a really nice neighborhood. Legend has it, dreams come true and the streets are paved with only the smoothest repealed banking regulations. I’ve heard that our quadrillionaire overlords will sometimes throw one or two of the gold doubloons they’re hording to passersby—assuming the mindreading orb they found in the basement of the Federal Reserve unlocks their white brain matter for long enough to do it.

After that, the driver should floor it into reverse, as the bus will have reached the state line—the end of the known or habitable universe. Man, Connecticut’s really changed in the last three weeks.