Hot Rods and Retirees

“Someone was driving their car really fast through the neighborhood last night,” Mom announced to Bill.

“Really fast?” he repeated.  “In the middle of the night?”

“Yes,” she replied.  “At least they were making really loud engine noises.  I think it woke me up.”

“Well, that sounds strange,” he said.  “I didn’t think the hot-rodders around here went out much after it got dark.”

“Some of them do because I can hear them racing around at all hours.  I even got up and looked out my window last night to see if I could tell who it was.”

“And did you see anything?” he asked.  “Maybe a couple of golf carts drag racing?”

“No, I didn’t see any golf carts.  But the house across the street has two cars parked in their driveway and they didn’t used to,” she offered.

“That’s George and Sherrie.  They’re having a garage sale this weekend and they needed the space inside the garage so they can get set up,” he explained.

“No, not them.  The spotlight house.  She’s the one with cars in her driveway.”

“Mom, you can’t see Nancy’s house from your bedroom window.”

“Yes I can.  And I can see her spotlight shining in my bathroom window at all hours too,” she argued.  “Anyway, some of these old farts still think they’re kids the way they drive around here.  They’re going to kill somebody one of these days, just you wait and see,” she huffed, taking a sip of her OJ and opening the paper to the crossword puzzle.

“Has anyone been run over in the 22 years you’ve lived here?” he asked from the doorway, getting ready to escape.

“No, not yet.  But just give it some time,” she predicted.

“More time than 22 years?” he muttered, making his way down the hall.

“It’ll happen,” she shouted after him.  “You’ll see.”

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