they never would. and so those cars would just sit, day in and day out, until those owners' spouses or sons or daughters or fathers or-mile-per-hour mothers claimed those cars and moved them. and tried to move on themself. i've always wondereded what they thought as each turned a key in that car. if only dad had slept in that day. if only mom hadn't been in such a rush to get to work that day. if only we could wind the clock back on that day. i remember one teenage girl crying. she had been arguing with her father that morning and never said goodbye to him that day. all she remembered was dad's big chevy that she had wanted to borrow that night quiet will i backing out the driveway that morning. little did she know she would be the one picking up that car from a train station, a park lot there, weeks later, car still there, dad not. a teenager's world shattered, whole lives suddenly in park. the dads who would never return home to catch their kid's game.