Waiting for a bus on a busy downtown street; I have my employee bus pass, homemade like our parking permits, and there's one other thing that I present to the bus driver. I wanted to make a copy of them to use this time, and keep the originals. (The main permit's red like the last parking permits.) There's a copy machine right next to the bus stop, and I see another woman about to use it, which is what reminds me to make the copies. I put my books (and something else) down on the sidewalk to do that. I go ahead of the other woman because she isn't ready (she's kind of a street person - stringy mousy hair, worn face, shabby tan coat) - the machine actually laminates them for you, too - costs a quarter. I go back to the spot where you get on the bus. There's some problem with a pair of my underpants, which I'm carrying in my hand; I drop them and they get mixed up with a small pile of lingerie that belongs to another woman (I don't know why it's there, unless - like my books - she just had to put it down to go do something else, Anyway, the bus comes and I'm fumbling to extricate my underpants, without seeming to be filching her stuff, too, and I have to scramble onto the bus. I put my purse and other things on the sideways seat behind the driver, and show her my copied pass. She's black, looks something like Lynn Moody - she's a little unsure about my pass, and I'm going to show her the original, and discover I haven't picked up my books (and whatever else) off the sidewalk. I say, Oh! hold on a minute, I'll be right back - the doors aren't shut yet - and dash outside to get them. The bus doors shut, and it starts up, slowly at first, almost as if she means to wait for me, then it moves on. I'm stunned - I thought she'd wait for me. I guess she means me to go on to the next stop down the block, but I'm still surprised. I hustle on down, knowing I might still not make it unless I run, and I can't run. But what I find is there isn't another bus stop close by, the bus is heading for the bus shed at the end of the street. I'm really worried, because even if I've got my books, my purse is on the bus, and my bus pass, and there's no way to get home without them. I hurry and reach the shed, which is kind of a main terminal like Union Station was, I guess, and I don't know where the bus is. This end of the place is not where the buses come, and I don't know how you get to the other end. I go through a door that seems to lead further forward, and I pass by what looks to be a locker- and workout-area. A couple of people - bus drivers, I guess, they have that look, like cops and other public servants do, like they have on uniforms even when they don't, who have just come from the showers or are going there - they have towels around their necks. One's a white female, dark hair with a perm, curly top and bottom, not big but physical looking (like bus drivers and cops often are), middleaged. I'm aiming at another door that leads outside and maybe further down towards the other end of the shed.