Rear-Ended

Sitting in my '68 Mustang, waiting on the busy Strip to take a left turn into Der Wienerschnitzel, I hear a quick screeching of tires and then bam! I'm hit from behind.

I get out to survey the damage. As I walk to the back of my car, I see the idiot who hit me, his land yacht with broken headlights, shattered grill, and clanking fan. Severe.

With dread, I look at my car. You remember that gas cap with the Mustang logo under plastic window? The plastic had an almost invisible crack in it. That was it.

I just let the obviously-intoxicated punk drive away, dribbling glass and clanking hilariously. I was young and unhurt. And I wanted my chili dog.

Funny the things that vividly stick in memory.