When the languishing fumes in the fuel tank forced
her to pull over, it was apparent that her prayers had failed
to capture the attention of whatever winged philanthropist might
be lurking in the ether.Her stark surroundings revealed the gravity
of her predicament. Downtown L.A. at 3:00 a.m. was no place for
a high-heeled sophomore fresh from a Fullerton frat party.She
certainly didn't expect a perfectly pressed latino youth to momentarily
abandon his prized Impala and offer her a chivalrous hand. Not
here in the city of angels.
copyright 1999 by Michelle Miller-Cicero