I must look like an overgrown boy scout

The woman in the downstairs apartment, who I've spoken with exactly once before, just knocked on the door and asked if I'd be willing to move her car across the street while she's out of town next week.¹ And then handed me the key to her rather nice sports car.

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¹ In Somerville, the streets are swept every other week; on our street, it's odd side (where we live) Tuesdays, even side (where she's currently parked) Wednesdays.