The day was beautiful and we perked up when we ate some grub (Jamaican jerk chicken and a beer sampling from a local pub), but then it turned super sour.
We walked back to our car parked in a neighborhood that earlier in the afternoon had people strolling about, but at sunset it had tuned a bit sketchy. I buckled Paco in to the backseat, not noticing that the front passenger window had been smashed. Shattered. Busted. The window lay in slivers and shards on the floor and as a glittering, caved-in hunk of glass on the seat. Javier kicked a fence. I called my dad and then the police. Javier chauffeured us the 2 hours home, Paco and I in the backseat.
It turned out my insurance payed for the window. The window-fixers in Toledo came to me. Nothing was stolen (our cds were rifled through but I guess the ruffians didn't like Tori Amos or Nigerian rock music). It was a pleasant 70 degrees, not ten below with icy wind blowing in our faces.
Here are some photos to illustrate the day that wasn't quite ours:
Oh yeah, and a dumpster caught on fire. |
Cleveland had its charms, like this little park by the water. |
I think Tim Burton would be proud, or inspired. |
Car sans window |
No comments:
Post a Comment