It's Superbowl Sunday. I'm back at home in New Jersey. Parents are out doing their thing. I realize that I need to get back to Colorado in the worst way. There's a traffic map of the country that shows me driving west and going through NY State, Pennsy and all points west rather than slowly heading south towards St. Louis. When I went out to my car, a blue Honda hatchback, it was gone.

Now I was pissed, fucking trapped here and I immediately blamed my father. Well he came home seconds later and said that he had one of his friends pick up my car and got snotty with me, "You want your car so fucking bad, I'll take you to your fucking car."

He sped off into the night with me and blew through every stop sign and red light, driving like my ass (as my mother likes to say) just like when I was a frightened five year old. Here's the worst part, the first stop sign he ran was up the street from me across from Chisholm Park. There were two people crossing while walking their dogs and he only waited until there was enough room to thread the needle and get the car through them. Of course the car's roof and antenna caught the leashes. At first I thought the leashes had skimmed over the roof but one of them didn't, in fact it improbably got stuck in the car between both front windows! I looked behind us and couldn't see anything but I was shouting at him to slow the fuck down or stop. In the shadows I saw that there was a white pit bull tumbling behind us. Fortunately the leash broke. Further down at the crossing between Gaudineer and Chisholm there were a bunch of toddlers and parents crossing every which way and he barrelled through them. I don't think he hit anyone but I still had that dread.