Shane, come back!
Shane, come back!
It is crazy, but I have been indulging myself with fantasies on how I would have catch the car thief last Friday. But there is not really much use for it, since I was actually still in dreamland while my father was chasing after the car, and my mother was equally scrambling to get out of the house in pursuit of the thief. Which was why I was feeling useless for not being able to help both of my parents in apprehending the #&$(*@ who got away with our car. Therefore, I can only help myself to the fantasies that still rule my head. I could have just jumped out of bed and ran after it. Then I would have shouted loudly at other cars to help and stop the thief by blocking the roads. Or waved frantically to any traffic policeman in sight, and hop onto their motorbikes. Or something.
Now, I get a little paranoid when I am on the road. I seem to be looking at every light blue Proton Waja that went past before me, squinting and taking note of the number plates, hoping against hope that voila! “It’s our car! Damn!” then I will be running after it. Or involving myself in a crazy car chase, weaving in and out of traffic dangerously. Things that you will only see in action movies. Only that I do not have a car to drive – not like I can drive in the first place, anyway. So I shall have to resort to uh.. jumping into some (hopefully) good Samaritan’s car. Or something.
Obviously, the thief would not be that stupid to not change the number plates. On the other hand, the car might have already suffered a grisly fate of being stripped apart, and having its various parts separated and sold to mechanics all around the place.
It still feels weird to see the empty space in the garden, where the Waja used to be.
Damn. I miss the car.
And until then, silly fantasies are all I can entertain myself with.
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