The Worst Sound

I heard a wreck at the corner by my apartment this morning. The plumber was here, I don't do my own work when I'm renting, and I had the patio door open to get a good breeze. The plumber had just finished with the kitchen sink when I heard the squeal of tires on asphalt and the crunch of one car crashing into another.
   That noise - squealing tires - kind of makes you sick to your stomach every time you hear it, because you know that nothing good is going to happen afterward. And that metal-on-metal crumpling is not a sound you can mistake for anything other than what it is, the announcement of a tragedy.
   I went out onto the patio to take a look, but trees obscure my view of that intersection. I saw there was a taco truck not too far from the light, so I thought maybe someone had gotten their own Montezuma's Revenge.
   The plumber had nothing more to do so he left, and since I had nothing to do I wandered downstairs to go take a look. Normally I'm not a lookie lou, but what the hell, my schedule is really open these days.
   Somebody in a little black car had plowed into the back of a pickup truck. The front of the car was caved in, totally destroyed, but the back of the truck seemed okay. The front of the truck, however, had run into the traffic signal and had a big U-shaped divot right where the radiator used to be. The Pasadena traffic light guys were already on the scene, repairing the damage. They're still there right now, as a matter of fact.
   There was no ambulance and no fire truck, so at least nobody was hurt badly, or worse. I just really hated that helpless, hopeless feeling, knowing that something bad had just happened and that there was nothing I could do to help.
    Final note: the taco truck was not involved in the accident in any way, it's perfectly fine. When I was downstairs the cop taking the accident report was having a cup of coffee from the truck. Probably for free.