I stared dully at the mess. It looked as though something had taken Thomas’s white Jag and put it in a trash compactor with the Blue Beetle. The two cars, together, had been smashed down into a mass about four feet high. Liquids and fuel bled out onto the street below them. Thomas gingerly put me down on my good leg as I stared at my car. There was no way the Beetle was going to resurrect from this one. I found myself blinking tears out of my eyes. It wasn’t an expensive car. It wasn’t a sexy car. It was my car.
