My friend recently acquired an Audi S3 in a very lovely shade of blue. Early in the morning on a beautiful day this past weekend he decided to take it out for a spin, taking the long way to pick up breakfast for himself and his fiancee. First, he headed through an industrial area to run through the gears on some deserted streets. At one of those pointless stoplights on a long straight—why does it still turn red when there’s no cross traffic or pedestrians?—a Civic, the only car in sight, rolled up next to him. Lowered, brightly-colored rims, fart can exhaust, lots of stickers. You can see where this is going. The Civic revved its engine, the driver waved and pointed, my friend thought “why not” and engaged launch control. He’s not at all an aggressive driver—usually a very sane and competent one—so a stoplight drag race is a little out of character for him but he figured it would be a bit of harmless fun on an empty street. The light turned green, they took off, the Audi dusted the Civic, and my friend let off the gas, chortled, and moved on with his day.
At the next red light he hit, the Civic pulled up again. This time, the driver waved at my friend again; my friend had had his fun and didn’t want to do another pull, so he waved back and shook his head “no.” The Civic driver, having gotten his attention, now held an object up to the window: a handgun. The light changed, the Civic peeled out, and my friend went about the rest of the morning wondering what the hell just happened.