This evening, I was over at Butch-n-Nellie's, working on my upcoming class.  I had a mocha.  And I forgot to ask for decaf.  Upon returning home, I read for about an hour, then went to bed, where I read for another half hour or so, until I started nodding off.  So I put the book away and shut off the light, and was soon asleep.

However, it didn't last long.  I woke not long thereafter, then tossed and turned for far too long.  I started to contemplate getting up, just because lying there not sleeping was driving me nuts.

It was around then that I heard an all-too-familiar sound in my neighborhood:  squealing tires and a revving engine.  Fuckin' tweeners around here are such assholes.  It's not uncommon for them to burn rubber down the empty streets in the post-midnight hours.

This time, however, the drag racing sounded different.  The squealing tires sounded more like a car swerving.  That doesn't sound good, I thought to myself, just before another sound filled the air: a nasty, unmistakable crunching of metal.  Followed immediately by a car alarm erupting.

The fucker had hit a parked car. 

Then, more squealing tires as the son of a bitch took off.

Naturally, I got up.  Through my dining room window, I could see the flashing lights of the car with the alarm still sounding.  It was a solid hit, too, not a sideswipe... directly over the front driver's side corner of the car.  In short order, there were close to a dozen people gathered out there, flashlights out and cell phones open.

Tough break... hit and run.  The owner of this sleek red car was probably screwed.

Ah, but maybe not.  "Whoa!" I heard one of the guys below yell.  "The guy's license plate fell off!"  I chuckled as I saw him pick up the plate from the ground.  Very cool.  I doubt very much that anything would've come of this, otherwise.  But now...  busted by karma.