Fast Fiction

First, an update on my keys. My N is still misbehaving. So, if you notice one missing someplace, it’s because I was typing too fast to hit the key eight times. (There were other choices for numbers that were more accurate, but they required the dreaded letter.)

On Monday morning as I was going into the house through the side door I saw a tan Volvo come around the curve in front of my house, pass closely by a blue Lexus and give it a glancing blow, shearing off the side view mirror.

The Volvo barely made a course correction upon striking the Lexus. The Lexus shuddered and the mirror and its control wires dangled down against the door and the housing flipped towards the front of the car.

This is probably not so uncommon, and that the car didn’t stop is little surprise. I suspect that the Volvo lives on the street, but I don’t remember everyone’s car. For the record, the Lexus was parked on the wrong side of the street. Well, I call it the wrong side of the street, but someone removed the signs years ago when they built that new house. Most of us still understand that they shouldn’t park there, not really because someone might hit you, but mostly because there’s no room for two way traffic if people park on both sides and no one likes backing up around a curve when you come nose to nose there.

I left a note on the Lexus’ windshield as I left for the work with a brief account of what I witnessed and my contact info.

Here’s why I mention it.

I haven’t heard a thing.

I don’t know quite what to think, I mean, I don’t know what to expect with such things. A few weeks ago an ATM gave me more money than I requested. I returned it, though I wasn’t sure if the money belonged to the credit union or some user of the ATM. I guess I’m asking for closure. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m a writer or that I watch too much TV where things are always tied up in neat little packages.

Of course this post is ending much the same way, with no real conclusion.