In every sense.

I’m driving the thing that is not a  redRam 1500 with a Hemi and a touchscreen that I REALLY want car to the office. Around the corner, I see a parked Camry with a critical ass implosion. It’s like my neighbors’ kids after one of their constant DR calls.  Plus it’s a Camry: a crash is an improvement.

But I keep driving. Slowly. The debris field around the car is unsettling.  Then I remember.  I know this story.  I lived it.  It’s actually never that far out of mind.

What are the odds that some drunk did a similar hit and run 23 years later. Hmm.

So I turn the corner, on the way to the gas station.

Oh Look! It’s a Toyota Matrix with equal and opposite damage!

OK, this is too much. Time for the camera. I am either saving the Camry from a dumbass, plus the grief that I carry, or I am fucking up a conspiracy to hide a DUI/hit and run. In each case, I still get a story to run.

Jesus! Look at that wheel.  That is NOT how you play curbhunter!

Now it all fits!  Hopefully, a call to the local PD will get this straightened out for both of them.  Karma will be happy that two generic Toyotas are pulled from the commuting gene pool. I can be happy that some dumbass doesn’t get away with it, because of those meddling kids your author.

(Seriously, Mr. hit and run – there were two much closer unused alleys where you could have rolled it. We would have never seen it.)