...of a bus driver

As soon as you get on the bus, you're greeted with three rules clearly posted on a written sign: no smoking, no talking to the driver, and no exiting the bus while in motion. Hello, good listener and good reader!
The second rule is rendered unnecessary by the bus driver's own attitude. He certainly must hear what his customers say to him: a hello, a good-bye, an expressed curiosity, and the destination, for which he must calculate the correct amount due. Basile hands over the the right tickets, hands back the change, gives a "thanks" with a nod of his head, and moves on to the next customer, but he never answers questions.
"Where are we headed?"
It's written on the sign on the front of the bus.
"Where are we coming from?
Is it possible to know where one is coming from, at a point between the chicken and the egg?
"Where are we?"
You should know just as well as I do, you who have consciously boarded the bus at this precise location.
Basile remains silent. Everyone knows this. But although he's silent, he isn't completely mute. He speaks with his habits. Basile doesn't sing, doesn't yell at the road or his vehicle, other drivers, or the cops. He doesn't disseminate the usual banalities. He doesn't hold long conversations about the unpredictability of our era. Basile is far away.

[My Beautiful Bus, Jouet, J.]