"Hey, lady," yelled out the man from his not-very-shiny sedan. He sounded desperate (not flirtatious), and so I walked over.
I stayed far enough away from his car that he couldn't grab me and shove me in. My mom taught me that when I was nine, and I've been successfully thwarting potential kidnappers ever since. We were both on 7th Avenue South. I was walking uptown, back to work, and he was driving downtown.
When I walked closer, he started speaking again. "Can you tell me how to get to Brooklyn?"
"Sure. Well...where in Brooklyn?" I asked. Closer up, he had gray hair, a bit of a gut, and a pained-looking wife riding shotgun.
"Anywhere," he replied. "Just get me to Brooklyn."
I gave him directions to get to the Brooklyn Bridge (or at least, closer to the Brooklyn Bridge), but I can only imagine what happened after he crossed the water.