Runaway purple bus

I am on the purple bus to heaven. We take a left on Mahatma Gandhi Road and hurtle through Nelson Mandela promenade. Good People's square is lined with orange trees and twinkling ferry lights.
We stop at the intersection. Which way to heaven now? Should we follow the great unwashed or do we just follow the pink cadillac.
I ask my neighbour. "Go to hell," he says.
I look around. The purple bus is moving but it has no driver. I am headed to hell in a headless bus.
Damn, it's the vodka.