We pulled onto Stanton Street on the Lower East Side, driving slowly by parked cars and spaces that make your heart race in excitement because you think your search is over, before you realize there is a fire hydrant. And then finally there it was. The perfect spot. Well, almost. It was a little tight. A space between two big cars, each towering over us. Along the sidewalk were people scattered about, drinking coffees and enjoying the weather before it becomes too cold to sit outside.
My friend decided she could do it. She could parallel it into that little space.
So she began - forward, backwards, forward, backwards. Never so much as touching her bumper to the car in front and the car behind. It wasn't until seconds in that we noticed the onlookers. All the people sitting outside were now enamored by the ease of the driving, waiting expectantly for the bumper to hit, for the wheel to turn too far to the right, for the car to be too far from the curb. They all just sat and stared. Like something out of a movie - they watched carefully as the car parked. Skillfully. Masterfully. For what seemed like hours, the noise, the commotion, and the traffic all stopped as the world watched a car parallel park on Stanton Street.
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