I could be wrong but it seems to me that in my experience that the more years you live and the more miles you drive, things are bound to happen. Especially in New York. And, especially, in the outer boroughs.

Last weekend my adventure took me to Brooklyn to spend a lovely Saturday afternoon with my significant other. It was great. We spent the day looking at pretty things, walking along the Brooklyn Promenade, enjoying an adult beverage — or two — at a Cobble Hill watering hole. After driving one of her friends home to Williamsburg, it was apparent we'd make it back to New Jersey in time for one last indulgence: Homemade ice cream.

How can you say no to that?

For whatever reason, many of the times I step out of the car I own I always spend a moment or two giving it a once over. Check the tires, look at the body, etc. And this time, something was off. Although it was 10:30 at night and the Jet Black paint did a pretty good job of hiding what had transpired, it was clear that the car sustained a hit. But it was more than just a love tap.

The hit connected right where the bumper meets the fender and happened at the right spot — or with enough force — to buckle the metal fender. The composite bumper held up quite nice, if I am honest.

After thinking about the cost and the annoyance of having to get it fixed when I am abstaining from mass transit, my lady and I enjoyed some decent ice cream. Honestly, it was kind of a let down but it wasn't due to the just-noticed hit.

Having visited a couple body shops this week, it looks like I am out $1,000. If it weren't for the bumper being in good enough shape to work with it, I am sure that would be more like $1,800-$2,000.

If you're out there reading this somewhere, all I have to say is "F#$% you."

If you were a decent person, you would have — at least — left a note.

How my front end now looks:

How my front end should look:

To The Son Of A Bitch That Hit My Car In Brooklyn And Left...

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