Last night, Second Son was driving girlfriend’s car (with permission–it’s easier on gas than his truck) home from “the Spot.” (“The Spot” is located in the same building as the Urban Bike Project–it’s a collection of art galleries for local artists, as well as a venue for local bands.)
The car got rocked. That is, someone threw a rock at it. Not 500 feet from the local State Police Barracks in the middle of a generally much more than okay area. He immediately turned left into the Barracks and reported the crime.
It’s clear to see from the pattern of the break that the rock hit on the lower left corner where the glass curves from the side to the back. According to Second Son, the cop said, “Well, it hit at the worst possible place.”
Fortunately, no one, not even the back seat passenger, was hurt. But there were shards of glass everywhere–in the back seat, on the rear shelf, under the front seats, even in the map pocket of the right rear door.
Meanwhile, the car doesn’t do (rear) windows any more:
The neighbor lent us his shop vac to suck up the glass, but there’s still bits and pieces in the driveway. No foreign objects and no exit wounds were found in the vehicle, supporting the theory that it was a rock and not a bullet.
I’m going to keep parking on the street, thank you. And the boat doesn’t move until the glass is gone.
We’ve had far too much excitement around here lately.
(Aside: I included the campaign sign in the picture just for Opie.)