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This week: a crash course in bad manners

Hey, hit-and-run driver, remember me? I was driving the southbound Grand-Am GT that you rear-ended one Monday morning. I was exiting the Broadway Bridge when you decided to clip the ass end of my car. You probably couldn't see me when you ignored the "no right turn" sign and gunned it west on Fifth Street toward KCK. But I saw you, driving a maroon Ford Taurus. I'm guessing your stupid ass also didn't see me stopped on the bridge waiting to exchange insurance information with you. But don't worry about me. I'm all right, although the back of my car isn't. You left some paint on my back bumper. Lucky for me, that's about all the damage you did. I called the police, but without your license-plate number, there's not much they can do. And don't concern yourself with witnesses. No one snitched on you. I guess the silence is still killing us — or at least my deductible.

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