Maru (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
yakalskovich) wrote2005-02-03 09:01 am
yakalskovich) wrote2005-02-03 09:01 am
Entry tags:
The Nepali
Last night, when walking to the station from work at half past ten, a car stopped beside me trudging through the snow, and the driver offered to take me to the station.
'Never get in a car with a stranger.'
But I, trusting the mean sharp ends of the Nordic Walking sticks I was using for walking in the snow (without those, I'd be lost) plus, in case of an emergency, the frightening edge on my broken-off tooth, and the fact that I can call on some pretty tough entities within me, was lazy and got in.
It was a Nepali; his features somewhat Indien, somewhat Chinese, the writing on the orange banner hanging from his rearview mirror the same as the one on the Tibetan prayer flags you get in New Age shops.
There were indistinct things in his car that suggested he was coming from some work assignment: tool boxes, the like. He took me to the station. I politely declined the polite come-ons he couldn't suppress. When I got out, I touched the orange banner and said, "Well, at least your karma will be better for having helped me", and walked down the path to the station with my Nordic Walking sticks. It was a quarter of an hour until the train I had hoped to catch on foot was due; I might not have caught it, I though. But when I came to the platform, there were people; the last train was late and arrived the moment I sat down on a bench. I didn't have time to get cold, even. I was home shortly after eleven, and in bed by midnight, and am now widely awake, fresh as a daisy, and have taken even more Spartacus screen shots, and put them in my bucket.
Sometimes, you've got to effin' trust the universe.
'Never get in a car with a stranger.'
But I, trusting the mean sharp ends of the Nordic Walking sticks I was using for walking in the snow (without those, I'd be lost) plus, in case of an emergency, the frightening edge on my broken-off tooth, and the fact that I can call on some pretty tough entities within me, was lazy and got in.
It was a Nepali; his features somewhat Indien, somewhat Chinese, the writing on the orange banner hanging from his rearview mirror the same as the one on the Tibetan prayer flags you get in New Age shops.
There were indistinct things in his car that suggested he was coming from some work assignment: tool boxes, the like. He took me to the station. I politely declined the polite come-ons he couldn't suppress. When I got out, I touched the orange banner and said, "Well, at least your karma will be better for having helped me", and walked down the path to the station with my Nordic Walking sticks. It was a quarter of an hour until the train I had hoped to catch on foot was due; I might not have caught it, I though. But when I came to the platform, there were people; the last train was late and arrived the moment I sat down on a bench. I didn't have time to get cold, even. I was home shortly after eleven, and in bed by midnight, and am now widely awake, fresh as a daisy, and have taken even more Spartacus screen shots, and put them in my bucket.
Sometimes, you've got to effin' trust the universe.