Sunday Bloody Sunday

This is what happened. It was a damp Sunday night—it had rained all day—and my roommate and I were on our way to the the studio to get some books and my printer and then to La Tapatia to pick up our dinner. Stopped at a red light, I noticed a note had been tucked under my windshield wipers. Books and printer in tow, I walked toward my car and noticed something was amiss—there was a dent on the left side of my car. I remembered the note, removed it from under the wiper. The small lined paper read, I'm sorry I've hit your door Please call… I called the person today, and apparently he even took photos of my car. If there were such a thing as a good hit-and-run, I guess this would be it.