After hitting a parked car with my enormous Uhaul, a chilled out vintage furniture store owner walked over, checked out the obvious scrapes and dent in his car and said, "don't worry about it, that's what happens to cars." He welcomed me to the city and walked back to his shop. I can't remember where his shop was or what street it was on.
Later that same day, the sun set as it does and darkness followed, as it will. The headlights on our Uhaul died as we (my loving, indentured family and I) became more and more lost, knowing we were just streets away from the Uhaul drop off center and if we couldn't drop it off we would have to pay like $600 and hope they didn't discover the damage from the fender bender. It was around midnight and I had cried from frustration and exhausation at least 3 times. Then, up from the pavement, a tiny, woman in a t-shirt and shorts appeared. She led our blind caravan through Brooklyn, until she delivered us to the front door of the Uhaul drop off center. I don't remember
her name.She reminded me of a man I met when I was travelling through Europe with my friend. We were both too young to be travelling alone, she was 15, I was 14. We were on an Italian train heading to Piza when a scary guy sat down next to us and in broken english asked questions that would make Linda Lovelace blush. He wouldn't give up and we were too young and naive to stop it but very aware of how isolated we were on the overnight train and amazed by the lack of security and official looking people anywhere.
The scary guy followed us off the train when out of nowhere an older, rather attractive, well dressed Italian man, who spoke no English, surrounded us in the vacant terminal and took us away with him to safety. I don't remember his name, I don't think I ever asked him.
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