This is a weekly program with commentary on current issues.

No doubt about it, those Greyhound buses do attract a certain ridership.

"They're dirty. They're unshaved. They hit you up for money, cigarettes, food. They bleed you the whole trip."

Yes, Cherlyn Camp, who goes Greyhound from Alabama to California's redwood forests, can attest to being bled by fellow riders. But ride Greyhound out of town, apparently the preferred route of official Riverside? Not so fast, she says.

"I also see people who depend on it just to travel."

Patricia Artist is content to just ride the bus and work her Cryptograms. But when the music gets too loud and the language becomes too salty, Patricia, a 64-year-old Riversider who soon would hop the Hound for Oakland, becomes philosophical: "You have to take the good with the bad."

After all, says Patricia, who no longer drives, "This is the only way some people can travel. They're the traveling poor."

I met Patricia and Cherlyn at the Greyhound station Wednesday morning after the City Council euthanized a plan to move the station from downtown to a Riverside location that made absolutely no sense.

But the decision seemed to be more about how to get rid of Greyhound than where to put it.

"Does it really belong in Riverside?" mused Cindy Roth, prez of the Chamber of Commerce.

"If this means Greyhound doesn't do business in Riverside anymore," pronounced Councilman Mike Gardner, "so be it."

The Renaissance city, having profiled Greyhound patrons as criminals trolling for trouble, now advises the old dog: Detour. Road Closed. No Dumping.