The Bus Driver's Last Shift
The Bus Driver's Last Shift
George Carter was a quiet man, the kind you wouldn't notice if you passed him on the street. He’d been driving the same bus route for nearly thirty years, rolling through the same neighborhoods, picking up the same passengers. His life had slipped into the kind of routine that was both comforting and suffocating. Each morning at 5:30 AM, he’d brew a pot of coffee, slip on his well-worn uniform, and walk the short distance to the depot. His life was as predictable as the timetable he followed.
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The only thing that added a bit of spark to his otherwise dull existence was the lottery. Every Saturday, George would stop by the small corner shop on his route, buy his weekly lottery ticket, and use the same set of numbers he’d been playing for years: 08, 18, 19, 21, 25, 27. His numbers.
It wasn’t about winning for George—not really. It was the hope, the tiny sliver of possibility, that kept him going. That faint hope that maybe, just maybe, life could surprise him.
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It was a chilly Wednesday morning when George woke up at 4:30 AM, as usual. His small flat was cold, but the warmth of his coffee filled the kitchen with a comforting aroma. He rubbed his eyes and opened his email, half-expecting the usual junk mail and a few spam offers.
But there it was, sitting in his inbox, as if it had been waiting for him all his life:
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Subject: National Lottery—YOU'VE WON!
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His heart skipped a beat. George stared at the screen, blinking to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He clicked on the email, his hands trembling slightly. The message was straightforward:
Congratulations, George Carter! You have won a prize in last night's draw with your numbers 08, 18, 19, 21, 25, 27.
For details, visit the National Lottery website.
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George's mind raced. Won? he thought. But how much?
He didn’t have time to dwell on it. His shift started in less than an hour, and he was nothing if not punctual. He closed his laptop, slipped into his uniform, and walked to the depot. But this morning felt different. He couldn’t shake the idea that, after all these years, his luck had finally changed.
All through his shift, George’s mind was buzzing. He picked up his usual passengers—Mrs. Thompson, who always sat at the front; Dave, who never had enough change; and young Sam, off to school with his oversized backpack. They all greeted George with the same familiar nods and smiles, completely unaware that their bus driver might not be driving much longer.
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The hours dragged on as he drove the bus, stopping at each destination, his routine now feeling oddly surreal. All the while, the thought gnawed at him: How much? How much did I win?
When his lunch break finally came, George pulled out his phone, opened the National Lottery website, and entered his numbers. His heart raced as he waited for the page to load. The result flashed on the screen:
Winning amount: £3,500,000.
George sat there, staring at his phone in disbelief. Three and a half million pounds. His mind spun. He couldn’t comprehend it. After years of playing, years of hoping for something more, here it was. He had become a millionaire overnight.
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The hum of the bus engine, the chatter of passengers—all of it seemed distant, like background noise to the realization that his life had just changed forever.
George stood up, feeling a strange sense of calm wash over him. He didn’t need to finish his shift. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to. Without a second thought, he walked to the front of the bus, opened the doors, and stepped outside. The cool air hit his face as he stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the sky. He had been working for so long, so relentlessly, that the idea of not working felt almost foreign to him.
But today wasn’t about work. It was about freedom.
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George pulled out his phone and called the bus depot. His boss, Mike, answered with his usual gruff tone.
"George, you’re not supposed to be on break for another—"
“I’m done, Mike," George said, his voice steady. "I’m not coming back."
There was silence on the other end. “What do you mean? You’ve got a shift to finish.”
“I just won the lottery,” George said, the words feeling strange on his tongue. "I’ve been driving that bus for thirty years, and now, I don’t have to anymore."
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Mike spluttered something, but George didn’t hear it. He hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and started walking. He didn’t know where he was going, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t matter.
That night, George sat in his flat, sipping a cup of tea, staring out of the window at the city below. The noise of the buses, the hum of traffic, and the bustle of people all seemed far away now, like they belonged to a different world—one he no longer had to be part of.
Tomorrow, he would figure out what to do next. Maybe he’d travel. Maybe he’d buy a small house by the sea. Maybe he’d finally have the time to pursue the things he had always put off. But tonight, he just let the quiet sink in, let the reality of his new life settle around him.
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For George, the lottery had always been a dream, a distant hope that had kept him going through the years. And now, it wasn’t just a dream anymore. It was real.
And so, after decades of routine, of quiet and lonely bus rides through the city, George Carter’s life finally changed. And for the first time in years, he felt like he could go anywhere, do anything.
The road ahead was wide open.