Next morning my husband helped her re-fill those sacks, then marched through our front door. Scowled. “Last night somebody plowed their car straight into her bags.” Scowled again. And grunted. “Teenagers.”
I tut-tut-ed. Paused. Imagined sighting those bags in my headlights…the decision…the impact… the shower of leaves. Strike! Teenagers. I envied them.