Just then the driving instructor got out of the passenger side of the car the old lady was yelling at to let her know his student hadn’t hit her. Backing out of the parking space she’d backed into a concrete standard designed to stop cars from hitting the side of the building.
Agatha, you see, was an actress back in the day, or so she thought. But in reality she was just a very old lady with severely diminished driving skills, trying to distract everyone from the fact that she had damaged her car. You could see the panic on her face, her gray wispy hair falling from its knot atop her head as she presented her case in a very hysterical wobbly voice to anyone within hearing range. Her faded flower dress had seen better days, as had everything else about her.
Her fear of losing her license was palpable. She was terrified of being idled by a ticket for yet another accident. But this time was probably the last ticket she’d get. An officer had arrived and was now walking around her car. Her diatribe ceased as she saw him, knowing what was to come. Her future had arrived.