New York City never gets dark at night, not the way it does in the country. That\u2019s one thing that always fascinates me whenever I make the seven-hour trip from Lynchburg, Virginia. But by the time my two friends and I hopped off the Circle Line boat tour, the meatpacking district was a ghost town.<\/p>\n
The bright lights of Times Square, where we were heading for dinner, seemed far away. \u201cDoesn\u2019t the city make you nervous?\u201d one of my friends asked as we walked to the bus terminal.<\/p>\n
The Big Apple could be overwhelming for folks not used to it, but I came up often. I loved everything from the serenity of Central Park to the views from the Statue of Liberty\u2019s pointed crown, from the stars on Broadway to the street performers of Washington Square Park.<\/p>\n
I knew if we kept walking we\u2019d hit civilization.<\/p>\n
But the streets remained empty. Not even a cab passed by. I sent up a silent prayer.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you ladies doing around here this late?\u201d a voice asked. \u201cIt\u2019s not safe.\u201d<\/p>\n
I jumped. It was a street vender, pushing his hot pretzel cart along the potholed street. It rattled so much on the uneven asphalt, it was a wonder I hadn\u2019t heard him approach. I told him our destination. \u201cFollow me,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
For some reason, I knew we could trust him. We walked with him for several blocks, until we reached the bus to Times Square. Soon we\u2019d be back in the hustle and bustle, back in the light. \u201cYou\u2019ll be okay now,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
My friends and I crossed the street. I turned to wave goodbye. He was gone. I hadn\u2019t even heard his pretzel cart rattle away.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n