Yesterday, entirely unprovoked, a navy blue Aston Martin V8 Vantage convertible pushed me eight feet onto the shoulder in order to pass the car in front. This was on a two-lane toll road, and we were all doing roughly 15 over the limit to begin with. His move was rather slow and quite deliberate, but still terrifying, particularly to my front seat passenger wife--our two year old son in back wasn't bothered.
I kept cool and in control, then called 911 and reported him as a violently erratic drunk driver. Tons of cops in the area on any given day, and not many Astons with that plate number, I'd guess.
I hope you're in jail, scumbag. Also, I'm entirely confident I could have just dusted that fancy Aston if I had also woken up as a psychopath.
|because I've smashed them with a hammer|
Today I renewed my license for the first time in at least ten years. Before leaving I took a quick practice test. The ghost of Lucas still haunts us.