At least, I assume it's criminals at work.
There was another burnt out car in front of the underpass near my place this morning. There's been a spate of them recently, all up and down the main strip between the suburbs. Usually wedged into the underpasses intended for pedestrian use.
The police had already been in attendance and gone again by the time I got there on my way to work this morning - I had to dodge the traffic to get to my bus stop instead of using the underpass.
I do wish people wouldn't do this - it's an unpleasant addition to a suburb, even in winter. And this isn't winter. It's summer, and that fire could have spread - it would have spread, if the council hadn't been doing their jobs properly and ensuring that the dry grass was suitably short and not likely to catch fire.
I was curious enough to get within sniffing distance of the wreck, but that was well and truly close enough. Like all burnt-out cars, it reeked. Burnt metal, plastic, and the olfactory remains of certain accelerants doesn't make for a pleasant smell at the best of the times.
But there was something about this one that disturbed me. The smell had a certain note to it that heightened my uneasiness. Something unnatural - as if there'd been something else in the car when it burned.
I didn't have time to stop and think about it, though. I had to go to work. And my commitments in the evenings lately don't leave me much time to carry out private investigations of burnt-out motor cars, even had I been inclined to do something about it.
But that smell...
There was another burnt out car in front of the underpass near my place this morning. There's been a spate of them recently, all up and down the main strip between the suburbs. Usually wedged into the underpasses intended for pedestrian use.
The police had already been in attendance and gone again by the time I got there on my way to work this morning - I had to dodge the traffic to get to my bus stop instead of using the underpass.
I do wish people wouldn't do this - it's an unpleasant addition to a suburb, even in winter. And this isn't winter. It's summer, and that fire could have spread - it would have spread, if the council hadn't been doing their jobs properly and ensuring that the dry grass was suitably short and not likely to catch fire.
I was curious enough to get within sniffing distance of the wreck, but that was well and truly close enough. Like all burnt-out cars, it reeked. Burnt metal, plastic, and the olfactory remains of certain accelerants doesn't make for a pleasant smell at the best of the times.
But there was something about this one that disturbed me. The smell had a certain note to it that heightened my uneasiness. Something unnatural - as if there'd been something else in the car when it burned.
I didn't have time to stop and think about it, though. I had to go to work. And my commitments in the evenings lately don't leave me much time to carry out private investigations of burnt-out motor cars, even had I been inclined to do something about it.
But that smell...
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