The sun was shining when I got on No.151 Bus. We passengers sat jammed together in heavy clothes. No one spoke. That’s one of therules.we see the same faces every day, we prefer tobehind our newspapers. People who sit so close together are using those thin sheets of newsprint to keep their . As the bus came near the Mile, asuddenly rang out “!This is your driver speaking.” We looked at the back of the driver’s head. “Put your papers down. All of you.” Thecame down. “Now, turn and face the person next to you. Go .” Surprisingly we all did it. Still no one smiled. I faced an older woman, her head wrapped in a red scarf(围巾).I saw herevery day. Our eyes met We waited for the nextfrom the driver. “Now repeat after me. Good morning neighbor!” Our voice were .For many of us, these were thewords we had spoken that day. But we said them together, like ,to the strangers beside us. We couldn’t help .There was the feeling of relief(解脱), that we were not being held up（抢劫）. But more, there was the sense of ice being. “Good morning ,neighbor.” It was not soafter all. Some of us repeated it, others shook hands ,many laughed. The bus driver said nothing more. He didn’tto. Not a single newspaper went back up. I heard laughter, a warm sound I had never heard before in . When I reached my stop, I saidto my seatmate, and then jumped off the bus. That day wasoff better than most.