Dear Mr. Creepy Guy,
Don't you think it's a little weird that you were running around our little town during a rainstorm? I do. And just in case you couldn't tell from my face, you creeped me out, dude. I'm sixteen, okay? I'm not yet used to driving by myself, and I'm even less used to actually locking my car doors. So, when I stop at a stoplight where you're just chillin', just because the doors aren't locked doesn't mean you can try to hop in with me. Sorry, but that just doesn't fly with me. All I can say, is thank God that I managed to lock the doors in the mere seconds before you began messing around with the handle. This letter is just my way of saying thanks, for almost making me pee my pants in fright, and for taking away my belief that there is no reason to be afraid of homeless people. Because of you, I am now a scared, paranoid little girl. Not cool, man, not cool.
Sincerely,
D.
P.S. Try to get in my car with me again, I dare you. My tire iron has been promoted from the trunk to between the front seats, and I know how to use it to both change a flat and to beat the snot out of you. If that doesn't work, I now have an escape route planned. You go in the passenger side, I go out the driver side. Oh, and the keys? They're coming with me. Don't believe me? You'll find out the hard way then.
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