Surrounded by the throng of people from the ferry, I walked through the set of doors into the wide-open, glassed lobby of the terminal. People filled the space, pressing into the partitioned bar to the right and filling the corridor that ran under a large sign pointing the direction to parking and ground transportation. I let the traffic carry me straight through the building and out the other side.
As I stepped outside, we were once again ushered forward like cattle toward a line of people in bright orange pinnies that read Volunteer. They held up signs outside a line of shuttle buses. There had to be at least ten parked there. I stared at the signs, totally confused. When I didn’t find any that said Philadelphia, my eye caught one that read Newark Bus Station. I moved toward that, thinking of the school bus that had driven us to the ferry terminal.
“Newark bus station,” one of the volunteers said to me.
I just nodded and the woman helped me up the steps.