But that's not what I'm here to tell you about.
I'm here to talk about the draft. No, wait...
Anyway. I was walking through Davis Square with my groceries, when a worried-looking woman stopped me.
"Hello. Oh, I'm sorry I startled you. Do you live around here?"
"Me too, on Thorndike Street, for a week now."
Ah, I think. She is lost.
"Where are you trying to get to?"
"The Nashua Trauma Center."
"Oh. Hmm. No, I don't think I know where that is, I'm not sure I've gone past it."
"The Nashua Trauma Center?"
"Well, do you know what street it's on?"
"I do now, because the police told me."
"You see, I have to get to the Nashua Trauma Center, in Nashua, New Hampshire, in a hurry..."
"Oh. Right. Um, no, I'm sorry, I don't have any spare money."
She headed off again, but if I had been a meaner person, I would have wanted to ask "Are you new at this? Because that wasn't the right order at all." Of course, it was probably my fault for jumping straight to "where are you trying to get to." I can't blame her for getting her spiel derailed.