{
  "captions": true,
  "voice": "af_nova",
  "music_url": "https://4ort.live/v1/mtv/video/70f6033668f6?download=1",
  "scenes": [
    {
      "id": "s1",
      "narration": "The cold is what tells the truth. Before a single kid boards, I walk my bus the way a painter stretches paper — every inch watercolor-fresh, nothing assumed. This is the walkaround."
    },
    {
      "id": "s2",
      "narration": "Tires. Check them the way you'd check a handshake. The left front is the one that fails — flat spots, bead cracks no one else sees. Air pressure drops with the temperature, and Bridgeport in January is a lie detector."
    },
    {
      "id": "s3",
      "narration": "The danger zone is a circle ten feet out from that yellow metal. A child is shorter than the hood, shorter than your sightline. You count them across the front of the bus, never past it. One hard line you never cross."
    },
    {
      "id": "s4",
      "narration": "Lights, horn, stop arm. Flick the high beams against the dark wall and watch the pattern hold. When it all answers true, I sign the log and the day becomes a clean run. Safety isn't a checklist. It's a habit you rehearse until it's reflex."
    }
  ]
}