A couple years back a few friends and I witnessed a hit-and-run in San Francisco, near Daly City. We were stopped at the light, and an adjacent car was, too. Some dude, no brakes no horn or anything, SLAMS dead into the back of one of those cars, crumpling in the trunk. Screeches back, screeches forward and peels off, horn endlessly honking because something broke under his hood, too.

Light turns green for us, and we drive over to the victim’s car. There’s plastic everywhere, the trunk is caved in easily two feet; everybody was fine, though.

We start picking up pieces, anything that looks important, and we find out that DUDE’S LICENSE PLATE FELL OFF! He slammed into the other car and his plate came off. He wasn’t getting away with this.

After making sure everyone was okay, and giving our numbers as references for witnesses if needed, we drove off.

A couple miles down the road we hear the honking, and his car was stopped in the middle of the road. His car had broken down two miles from the accident. He was there, too. His horn was attracting attention from some pedestrians, and some officials. All he could do is sit there and talk.