Back in 1994, I had a weekend that seemed to be on a downward spiral. My car died, quietly and suddenly, and I was stranded in the part of Connecticut that people don’t talk about: the Quiet Corner. This was my experience of the state when I moved there from Cambridge: I drove past the campus, looking for the little college town. Must be the other way, I thought after driving a few miles and seeing only cows and pastures. So I turned around.
So I was adjusting to country life after my funky town and losing a car was like losing a valuable limb. It was a blow, canceling all my weekend plans. Then I turned my head. No, literally (and I do mean literally) and suddenly I was in so much pain that I could not move it again.
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