| 07 February 2004 22:18 | whacked |
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last night, someone hit my car and dented the back door in and didn't leave me a note or a candy bar or even a message like "sorry" written in script in the snow on the windshield. fucker. the boy (i suppose he needs a pseudonym, but i'm not feeling creative right now) picked up the panel that had been knocked off the door and found part of the headlight of the terrible, damage-inflicting car. then he went all up and down the street trying to figure out what sort of headlamp it came from. he matched the part number to another car up the street (not the perpetrator). if you drive an older, light-colored chrysler minivan and your front right-hand headlamp is busted, stay the hell out of squirrel hill. i can't answer for the consequences. i'm sad about it, but mostly because it represents a hassle wherein i have to deal with bureaucracy (insurance) and the service industry (mechanics). february is shaping up to be a very expensive month. love, might |