I can see you. Don't think that staring forward makes you invisible. And I know you can see me, because my headlights are lighting up your dashboard like it's at a Kiss concert.
I know you watched me try to squeeze into the parking space behind you. Maybe you didn't notice how carefully I was twisting my car so I didn't scrape yours. Perhaps you missed the fact that I'm the most pathetic parallel parker in the history of humanity, so bad that the guy giving my licensing exam jumped into the back seat for protection both times I was tested. I thought the twelve failed attempts were a dead give-away.
But would it kill you to move your ass couple inches to help a guy out?
Seriously, we all hate alternate-side parking rules, and getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to fight with a bunch of crazed neighbors for the 23 feet of available parking on our block isn't anyone's idea of a good time. But you've got enough room in front of you to set up a grocery display of detergent (with browsing space); is it so hard to take your prick foot off the brake and roll forward a foot? Is your front bumper that sensitive? Will it feel crowded?
Are you conscious of the fact that I'm trying harder to avoid damaging your car than you are? And do you realize that I'm driving a vehicle which would swallow and consume yours in the wild? I could let my car follow it's instinct, and all that would be left of your would be it's bleached skeleton.
It would take so little effort to give in to the Dark Side of the Force and ram you so hard you'd wake up in the car in front of you. It's taking all my muscle control to keep that from happening, because my id has got a giant rock and is threatening to brain my ego if it doesn't let it have it's way. But unlike you, I actually give a shit about my neighbors, and recognize that living together in harmony means making space for those around you.
So enjoy that big fat chasm in front of your car while you can, buddy. Plant a garden there or something. Because next week we'll all be out here again, keeping ourselves warm in our idling cars, waiting for the witching hour when Johnny Law can no longer extort us with parking fines. And if I see your piece-of-crap blue sedan roaming the streets looking for a spot, or there's a space that's just a liiiiitle bit too small behind me, you'd better hope I'm in a generous mood, 'cause I just might set out a lawn chair and a cooler and squat there with a big-ass grin on my face.
The guy staring daggers into the back of your head.