Bus Stop

In a gentle jog, Marty was certain he would miss the bus today, turning the corner into Lakeside Boulevard, in his mind he imagined the bus just taking off from the stop. But much to his surprise, he saw nothing but an old lady sitting there.
Yes! The bus must not have come yet!
He slowed his stride as he tried to catch his breath and sat down on the opposite end of the bench noticing how skillfully she was knitting. She turned to him with a light smile, "Hello."
"Hi." Marty replied.
He wanted to continue, but hesitated. He analysed her from the corner of his eye, she seemed harmless, African-American in appearance, her hair streaked with silver, slightly puffy eyes and pouty lips.
"I don't know anyone who knits." He exclaimed.
"Neither do I." She replied.
"But you're knitting."
"I said, I don't know anyone who knits."
"Oh."
She continued, "Yeah, it's certainly a lost art these days. People now just BUY their clothes, no one knows how to do anything for themselves anymore. It's the same with food, someone wants a carrot they go out and BUY a carrot, they don't even know how to grow a carrot!"
Marty stared at her in silence with a certain sense of conviction as she continued to knit humming away a strange melody.
Marty heard the low rumble of the bus traveling down the road. As it arrived, he got up to board but the intriguing lady didn't get up.
"You're not getting on the bus?" He asked.
"Oh, I'm not here for the bus, dear." She answered back looking up with a sweet grin.