I was walking down street when a silver Hyundai Santa Fe pulled out of their drive and turned my way. As they came on, I realized that a can was resting on top of the car on the passenger side.
“Hey,” I called. Gesturing, I tried playing charades with the driver: something. Car. Roof. Meanwhile, I hollered at him, “There’s a can on your car’s roof.”
Beaming, he gave me a big, friendly wave.
“No, no,” I cried out. “There’s something on your car’s roof.”
He drove on around the corner and was gone.
C’est le vie.
Michael Seidel, writer 
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