Member-only story
Diane does this strange thing at bus stations, or on the busiest sidewalks of Minneapolis. She knows exactly where she’s going and how to get there; but she’ll pick a stranger, the scarier looking the better, someone who looks distracted and unavailable — and she’ll pretend she’s new to the city and doesn’t know how to get where she’s going. She approaches them and asks how to get to, uh (she fumbles for the address in her phone or purse), that place. Invariably — and really, this has never failed her — she feels their kindness as they explain her best route. They usually go out of their way to help her.
One day, she tried to refrain from playing this game with people, but was not always successful. Kindness is her crack cocaine, and she will go to great lengths to be on the receiving end of it. Even unto fabricating ignorance and vulnerability.
You might wonder why anyone would actually work to look vulnerable in a city known for its feral ruthlessness. But Diane has somehow always managed to stay out of trouble. She’s wily that way.
She’s always hated certain female protagonists in the movies. The kind where, realizing they were in danger, they tried to escape sooner than they should — betraying what they knew. This always triggered their captor’s wrath and squandered their advantage — putting themselves in even greater danger.
