Really? So when my parked car was hit, right in front of you, you saw nothing? The force was so strong that the tank-inspired engineering of my Volvo was no match for it. The car looked like it had been punched in the stomach, the headlights popped out like eyes, the hood flown back like it was a robbery victim—"Hands up!" And you, in that large gaggle of superannuated mallrats that hangs outside the Cuff, too cheapster to go inside and actually buy a drink, thinking you're sooo cool hanging with the homies on that dry little patch of hard dirt outside—you saw nothing at all? Did you help dispose of the now-missing front grille? Did you help your shitfaced friend drive away from the scene so he could go run over a small dog or old lady in a crosswalk? You're a great friend. Long live omertà, brother.