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.