by Barrington Smith-Seetachitt The other night, my husband Paul and I went to a networking event at a bar in Hollywood. We were waiting for a red light on La Brea when, BAM, we got rear-ended. We were in no danger of going through the windshield, but it was more than a gentle tap. After the initial curse word followed by a sigh, I pulled out my notebook and a pen. âOkay, when the light turns green, pull over, but watch for his license plate if he comes cruising past us.â But the driver, in a
Sunday, 12 October 2008
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