(This is the first in a month-long series of blog posts from National Safety Council survivor advocates. We are sharing our stories in honor of National Distracted Driving Awareness Month.)
I’d chosen my sublet on Craig’s List, and it ended up being a fuchsia-colored living-room-turned-bedroom in a garden apartment on a corner in Little India. After I’d met my future landlady, a Filipina flamenco dancer from Las Vegas, and my sometimes roommate, a flamenco dancer from Mexico who liked to clap when making a point, I walked back on the street I’d used to get there, smelling unusual spoiled lychee smells. The rows of yellow-gold necklaces and filigreed chandelier earrings glistened in the store windows as I passed. The ultra-white mannequins in purple and teal saris in a storefront, their whiteness made all the more jarring because of where they stood. And I thought, Now this is an adventure! Or probably something like that.
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