And abandoned school bus I game across while taking a stroll through a small forest. I have no idea how it got there, but it must have been dropped off long before those trees grew to that size as there was no way it could have been towed through them into that tiny clearing.
I wish I knew the story behind it. I imagine it probably goes something like this: Twenty-five years ago a decommissioned school bus was stripped of its engine and scheduled to be towed to the nearest scrapyard. However, it never arrived at its intended destination because the stellar individual chosen for this contextually Herculean task deemed it to be far more beneficial to mankind and the environment (and the hockey game that was starting in just under an hour) if he were to take a quick detour and unceremoniously dump his charge behind some scrub brush instead. Over the next twenty-five years, as the scrub grew into the forest that now encloses this relic, two generations of local teenagers would steadily pick apart and defile its rusting hulk in a subconscious symbolic rebellion against the conformist public education system that let them down; but more importantly, it was a fortress of solitude where they could drink a case of beer, smoke a little pot, and eat Ruffles potato chips in peace, safe from the prying eyes of those who knew better.