So I'm puttering inside Hobo House. I hear SCREECH! BAM! SKWIIIIIIITCH! I peek through the blinds. There's a Buick stranded on the median --8" clear of the road surface. Unidentified fuid's gushing onto the two-lane. No smoke, yet. Incredibly, a jogger and county police patrol happened to be within visual distance -- two to three minutes after the mishap. Jogger pulls at the door assists a little ol' man from under the bag to the walk, leaves as (here's when I go outside to invite the driver to Hobo House veranda) the patrol rolls up, plants flairs, escorts the driver to gubmint issue cabriolet. Five minutes later, another patrol, a ladder truck, and an EMS. Ten minutes later, I open the door, everyone and everything has VANISHED.

Trains on time or wut.

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