To the owner of the POS car next door,
I love the way you feel it necessary to shoot me a dirty look each and every time you see me. Although, I feel it completely absurd. I'm not quite sure how I became worthy of your glare. It brightens my day to piss you off as you walk into work in your painted on jeans. You do remember you work with children, right? I'm not quite sure your absolutely cheery demeanor or the fact that you poured yourself into clothes fits well with your job description.
Oh, and do you remember you have a spare on your car? You know, it's called a spare tire for a reason. You are only supposed to use it occasionally, not for 3 months straight. And by the way, parking lots are meant to park in. That means you don't need to park on my lawn every day. But I guess if you stayed confined between those white lines, your employer may complain that you've leaked oil all over the black top. So instead you choose to let it drip freely in my lawn. Thanks.
Today, when you went tromping past me, I looked up to notice two things. The first being that lovely look to kill. You want to hear the second? You left your lights on. Good job on that one! And if you weren't a complete and utter bitch, I'd have mentioned it to you, but since you obviously are, enjoy your dead battery. I'll be thinking of you when 6 o'clock rolls around. I may even peak out the window just to see the look on your face.