Back story: A couple of years ago, on a cold night not unlike this one, a young Kake slept in his bed. It was a night during which not even the wiliest teenager was broadcasting his impotence through lifted silverado squeelies; so yes, it was quiet. But Lo, a shriek broke the nightowls' reverie: a song of tires dancing across the suburban pavement. The heavy thump of fiberglass and crepe myrtle silences the fugue with a counterpoint, yet only after the twilight's intruder had left its signature across our neighbor's and mostly our lawn.

Long story short, I gotta pick out the damn car pieces from the tree and grass the next morning so I can mow the lawn.