Young people seem to be having a tough time coming to grips with the COVID 19 crisis. This should come as no great surprise. Americans are notorious for ignoring or denying death. The kid across the street and his buddies are no exception. I guess that neither the news of a 25-year-old San Diegan with no underlying medical issues dying last week from complications of corona virus, nor the 40,000 other people worldwide who have died since December, had registered on their collective radar.

The kid's about twenty now; technically not a kid anymore. On Saturday night he had a few friends over for a little "pandemic party." When it got late the kid's parents asked the partiers to keep the noise down. By this time enough alcohol had been consumed that moving the party from the front yard to the middle of the street seemed like a stellar idea. In minutes they had the portable fire pit, ice chest, boom box, and folding chairs arrayed on the chip-coated blacktop.

The curbs were already lined with parked cars. Double-parking both the silver pickup and the blue coupe on the west side completely blocked access from that direction. They closed off access from the east by orienting the black sedan crosswise in the street. I witnessed none of this. I was in my den watching the 2001 film Blackhawk Down. The music and laughter from the street was only occasionally audible over the the noise of the running battle through the Somalian capital Mogadishu. I was able to piece everything together from what I saw later, and from a follow-up conversation I had with the kid the next day.

It was around midnight when I heard what sounded like the tailgate on my '73 Ford pickup dropping into its open position.  But this sound was much louder. "What was that?" I asked myself. I paused the DVD and slowly peeled myself off the couch and emerged from my portico. As I approached the street in my jammies and slippers, I noted a black sedan at an angle of about thirty degrees off perpendicular to the line if the street. On the far side of the black sedan, steam was rising from under the crumpled hood of the car that had T-boned it. It looked like the black sedan's rear end had been shoved about three feet closer to the fire pit. The driver, a dark-skinned girl, was standing next to her open door.

My neighbor from across the street, the kid's dad, was standing in his driveway. "What happened here?", he yelled. The owner of the black sedan replied, "I was just pulling in here and she hit me!" I could see that, notwithstanding the offset caused by the crash, there was no way the black sedan had been lined up to pull into either of the two nearest driveways. My  neighbor then hollered, "All you guys get the fuck out of here!" To his son, he added, "Craig, you're moving out in three days!" Then he turned on his heel and stalked back into his house.

There were bits of plastic scattered about on the ground, and the owner of the car that had been hit was scanning the pavement. He was calling out, "Where are my keys? Has anybody seen my keys?" Meanwhile, the other boys sprang into action. In a twinkling they spirited away the fire pit and all other evidence of the party. As the other blocking cars drove away I thought to myself, the cover-up is always worse than the crime.

The sedan owner asked me if I had seen his keyes. I said "No." I added, "Don't think for a minute that you're going to pin this on the girl. She is not at fault here." He was already freaking out, and got even more agitated. He said to me, "Mind your own business! You don't know anything!" I said, "I know bullshit when I hear it." He said, "I was moving the car and she hit me!" I said, "Oh yeah? Then why aren't the keys in the ignition or in or in your pocket?" Black sedan guy just repeated, "I was moving the car." I placed my hand on the stricken car's hood. It was cold as a tomb.

Craig interposed himself between me and black sedan guy. He apologized profusely though drunkenly, and tried to shake my hand. Given the mandated protocols for social distancing, I demurred. I said, "When the cops get here I'm going to have something to tell them." Then I went back into my house and put on some pants and sneakers.

When I came back out there were two cop cars and a fire truck. I walked up to a young female cop with an N-95 mask on and introduced myself. She asked if there was something I needed. I said, Do you already know about the fire pit?" She said, "Yes, the caller informed us of the situation." "Perfect," I replied. I decided I was not needed so I went back inside and watched a little more of my movie.

After about twenty minutes I came out to the street one last time. The girl's car was about to be loaded onto a flat-bed tow truck. From about ten feet away I said to her, "If they try to charge you with this accident, get a lawyer and fight it. You will win. I will testify on your behalf."

The young female police officer and one of her male colleagues overheard me. They both came closer to speak to me. He said, "Don't worry, she is not being charged. The other guy's insurance rate is going up, not hers." The lady cop added, Yeah, we know the guys were just being stupid. People are getting a little crazy with all that's going on with this pandemic. If you have any trouble with them, by the way, just call us and we'll straighten them out." I laughed, thanked her, and said I did not expect any trouble. "I'm just glad no one was hurt." "Roger that," she replied. I bid the police goodnight, then went back inside and watched the end of the movie: 19 coffins containing the remains of American soldiers being loaded onto their last flight home. They estimate that over 1000 Somalis were also killed in the fight.