Car

There is a late 80's/early 90's Honda Civic in the parking lot of my complex. It is metallic blue. It is a small car. And I hate it.

You see, for the better part of the last three months, this vehicle has been parked across the line of one of the already small spots in the lot.

So, every night when I get home late, and it looks like there is a spot, but then there isn't because Mr. Civic is parked over the line, I get a little unhappy. Unhappy to the point that I sit in my seriously considering ramming the car with my own, until I realize that that would harm my car. Then I consider taking a chisel and dismantling the car little by little, so that eventually there would be no car left, and with any luck, the owner wouldn't realize that there was anything wrong until it was much too late. Then there would be two free spots, and two is better than one.

Then, I realize that it's now 12:02 am, and I've been sitting fantasizing about Civic destruction for the better part of ten minutes, and I give up and go find a place to park that is further away, resolving to myself to buy a chisel for the next day.

But I never do. I never do.