Did I ever tell you about my guardian angel?
It was late 2008, and I was buying a digital camera. I spotted him from a far in a Dick Smith Electronics. I was with a friend, and the only other person in the store was this "Rasta" looking guy with beautiful, shimmering, angelic dreads, wearing a beanie in the traditional Rastafarian colours.
I like to think he was there to ensure I bought a quality camera at a reasonable price.
Later that day at a COMPLETELY different shopping centre, with HUGH, EXPANSIVE parking lots, I was trying (and failing) to park. It was all about weird angles, and there was also a shopping trolley kinda in the space and it was cramped and I was pretty much performing a home abortion in the parking/metaphorical sense.
My friend couldn't even open the door (without hitting another car) to get out and direct me out of my predicament WHEN low and behold, the same Rastafarian guardian angel who was at the same store at the same time as I was buying my camera turned up, stood at the back of my car and through a series of hand movements and thumbs up, directed me safely out the parking space of death, without hitting any stationary objects.
True fucking fact.
Since then that friend and I have always referred to him as my guardian angel. I mean, we actually refer to him as my Rastafarian guardian angel, but, it's not like I have any other guardian angel. Just him.
I also saw him on a bus... get this... in the fucking suburb I live in... 2 years later.
Mind = blown.
So, this picture is (I guess) what that eventful day at the Garden City parking lot would look like if there were to be a movie based on my life.
A little bit of artistic license obviously taken into account, given the fact that I, my friend, and my guardian angel look nothing like those people (bar the fact that we are white, and he is black with dreads.)
Also, we didn't get out of the car and and all stare solemnly, side by side, letting the repercussions of our narrow escape from a botched park really sink in. But, once again, artistic license. (Because attractive people and solemn, dramatic moments don't really play a role in my life... and no one wants to watch a movie without those things.)

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