I’ve had to park my car in a multi-storey
car park. It’s a residential site but there are no signs to say that I can’t
park here. I leave my shark grey Peugeot 207 in an empty space between a lift
and a stone pillar. When I come back, my car is nowhere to be seen. But to my
right is a red Ford Fiesta which appears to have all my stuff inside. I glance
down at my key and it is indeed a Ford Fiesta key. The windscreen of this car
has been spray-painted blood red. The front tyres have been slashed. And the
back seat is full of yeasty, beery foam which must have expanded and multiplied
out of the four cans of Guinness that I kept in my boot which was intended as a
gift for someone but was politely declined. So, what do I do now? There is
no-one around to help. I’ve had a few drinks so calling the police or the
insurers at this time would be a bad idea. Instead I decide to seek the help of
my friend who lives two miles away and ask him to put me up foe the night. But he’s
having a house party so I must stay awake a little longer.
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