I got lunch about an hour ago at a local convenience store. I got a delicious sandwich/hoagie/sub with roast beef and horseradish sauce, said hello to a couple of the clerks I know, and left. As I was walking out of the store, a black dude (in ordinary gangsta/thug clothing) was walking in, so I held the door for him. He didn�t even seem to acknowledge my presence, so I was a little miffed. Live and let live, though, eh?

As I emerged into the parking lot, I noticed two things. One was that there was loud gangsta rap playing, assaulting my delicate sensibilities. The second thing I noticed was that there was a Cadillac DTS (with slick riyums) sitting in the handicap parking space in front of the store with its windows half rolled down, still running, with loud gangsta rap playing (assaulting my delicate sensibilities--I�m a sensitive boy).

My first reaction was shock and anger, but I took a deep breath, took out my car keys, and keyed the side of Mr. Gangsta�s car as I walked by. It was pretty satisfying. But as I got into my car, I had pangs of doubt. And I felt really guilty. How could I just drive off and leave his car like that? A Cadillac DTS is a pretty pricey car, and a fix�er�up paint job on it would probably cost him at least $500.

I got back out of my car and walked over to Mr. Gangsta�s, reached through the driver�s side window and popped the lock. As soon as I was seated in the driver�s seat, I really felt the thrill of having such an expensive car under my control. As Mr. Gangsta came out of the store, I popped it into reverse, and sped away. His face was really priceless. I guess he noticed the new �paint job� that I�d given the car.

I sped down the highway away from the convenience store, pushing the car to higher and higher speeds, listening to the engine purr. Caddies are really nice cars, did I mention? But I felt another pang on my heartstrings. Damn my conscience! I pulled down a side road, heading back towards the store. I stood on the gas a little, getting it up around 40� and turned sharply into a large oak tree. It was glorious. Next thing I knew, I woke up with my head on the airbag, a tree sitting next to me in the passenger�s seat. I must�ve blacked out a little.

I checked myself in the rear-view, but I wasn�t bleeding or anything. I actually looked pretty good for being in a relatively fast car accident. I knew I only had a few minutes before someone would come and try to get the police involved, so I wiped the steering wheel down with my shirt, and everyplace else that I�d touched.

I climbed out of the driver�s side door, with a little difficulty. The car was pretty smashed up, although just the front area. I know the engine certainly was. Which is a shame, as a lot of a car�s cost comes from its engine. But what really got me was the pistol that had slid out from under the driver�s seat. I hadn�t noticed it until now, probably because I blacked out when the car hit. I couldn�t just leave a firearm lying about like that! It seems like every criminal nowadays is using a stolen weapon.

I had to make sure not to get my prints on the weapon, though, as I really don�t like to trouble the police when they�ve got �bigger fish to fry�. So I picked it up with my shirt, held it as best I could, and emptied the clip into the front dash (what was left of it). Now I knew I had to be on my way, so I chucked the gun into a nearby ditch, and hoofed it back to the store--walking, not running. I wouldn�t want someone to think I was fleeing a crime scene.

Mr. Gangsta was nowhere to be seen. So I got back into my car, and left.

And the sandwich was delicious.