The old man from the first floor flat

“How dare you park your car before my house?”
Startled, I looked up from the phone. It was the old man from the first floor flat. He was shouting at me. 

“What?” I started to speak when he continued.

“Your car is parked right before my gate.”

I always park ahead of a gray colored gate. Last night I may have parked in front.

“I am sorry, I will move it.”

“Don’t you have any civic sense,” I wanted to respond, but I was the culprit here.

As I walked towards his house, he followed me, continuing his tirade. 

As we neared the car, I reached for the keys. It was not in my pocket. I checked all the pockets, even the shirt pocket. Then I remembered. I had sold my car the previous day. I was travelling by bus today, I had forgotten all about it. 

Turning around, I smiled sweetly said, “Sorry, not my car. Same color, but not mine.”

With that, I walked away.