viernes, octubre 10, 2014

Rush Hour

Driving north on the busy boulevard (towards the green and blue buildings), I turned right into the parking lot behind the coffee shop.  I didn't see that I had entered in the exit.  The lot was full, cars were double-parked, and there was a line of cars waiting to get in.  I was stuck with nowhere to go.  I was pointed in the wrong direction, there wasn't enough room to move forward, and backing out would surely endanger my life.  That seemed my only option, though: to risk my health and sanity by backing out onto the busy boulevard and praying that one of these L.A. drivers-not known for their kindness, mercy, or forgiveness-would be nice enough to let me out.  Either that, or I could do what I did . . . I parked and I took my book into the coffee shop.  I found a seat by the window, so that when someone needed to leave, I would just move my car a few feet out of the way.  Then the next person in line would take the spot.  This went on for two hours, until traffic died down enough so that I could get out of there without having to rely on the kindness of L.A. drivers . . . if that even exists.

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