Dispatches from the frontline of the Chapman Court Parking Lot

A month ago, I was happy. I try to remember it. How a smile once felt. I just can't get their faces out of my head. Friends. Enemies. All we wanted was to survive. To park. It should never have come to this... but it did. I wish I could go back. I really do. But you can never go back. Some primal instinct manages to break loose, and in the moment when someone takes my spot – my ASSIGNED PARKING SPOT – it's kill or be killed.

A war of attrition... the bodies and cars never stopped piling. It started innocently enough. Just tickets and honking. But wars change. Car bombs, slit tires, emails to the RA's... atrocities unseen since the Anderson Massacre.

But I'll be DAMNED if they ever make me overflow at Jim fucking Miller again. Or worse, Panther Village. At that point, I might as well be dead. And if it comes down to me or the Toyota RAV4 blocking me into my tandem parking spot, I know who I'm choosing.