False Alarm.

It had been a long day. Too long.

Kevin Walters squinted at the reflective road signs as his blurry head lights cut through the night fog. 72nd Avenue. That's right.

The tuning of his tires crunched softly on the dirt road and Walters longed for a Big Mac and a Slurpee from the Admiral. Unfortunately, Walters had promised his sister Tina that he'd pick up the old Buick and bring it to the lot. He grunted and drummed his thick fingers on the steering wheel. Drifting into a fantasy about being in a metal band with long wild dreadlocks, beer, and babes, Kevin rolled passed his sister's house. At the stop-ahead sign, Kevin's stomach growled and jerked him into reality. He pulled into the nearest driveway to turn around, then cursed aloud when he remembered the long trailer attached to the hitch.

Rather than jack-knifing the trailer and becoming stuck, Kevin carefully backed out and rode the quarter mile to Tina's house, in reverse.

Little did he know, Walters caused quite a commotion. The driveway he had randomly selected belonged to a particular family that was hyper-sensitive about trailer pulling up to their house in the dead of night, on a Saturday.

Within the dimly glowing windows of the driveway's house, the youngest daughter shouted an alert to her three siblings. "Holy crap! They're at it again!"

Four pairs of eyes traced the headlights across the bay windows until the pricks of light disappeared behind the trees of the neighbors' property.

"They're moving backward--they're going to park!"

In 3.5 seconds, all four Pineiro kids bounded into the dark, aggressively tugging on jackets and hopping into shoes. "If they put a couch on our roof, I'm going to punch them in the face!" the nine year old chirped, boldly. He bounded down the driveway and dissapeared into the fog. "Weston--get back here!" Rachael hissed in a stage whisper. The glow of the truck's headlights was expanding.

"He's coming back! Everybody hide!" The four young Pineiros hid behind various shaped trees--the nine year old behind a shrub.

"Don't move! Be quiet!"

In the silence of his truck, Walters debated between a Micky D's and Taco Bell. He couldn't make up his mind. Because of his lusty fixation on greasy wrapped treats, Kevin failed to notice the three oddly shaped trees, and one oddly shaped shrub, watching intently as his truck went by.

"Are they going to put a Buick on our roof?"

As the trailer-hitched truck continued passed the house and made a left onto Filmore, the Pineiros turned to go inside, their aggression dissipating into the night.