On the way there, it was pouring. On the way back, it was dry enough I left off my hood.
At the same place on each leg of the journey (one uphill, one down), I was asked for directions.
One was a youngish man in driving an old but tidy sedan. One was a younger woman with a child, smoking a cigarette and driving a car that had clearly seen better days.
One merely needed confirmation, the other was clearly confused. One headed east, one south.
One I could aid, one I could not.
Now, tell me again why not to believe in fairy tales.
