Among the cornfields of southeastern Connecticut, where I started driving, you could tell from some distance. A car parked aslant and close to the road meant one thing: For Sale. As you got closer, you'd invariably find a sign on one of the windows to confirm it.
Over the line, Smokey!
Starbucks, Victory Boulevard, Staten Island. Same angle, different message. This guy occupies the handicapped spot and the one next to it (marked in blue for no parking). He's even managed to stick out into the narrow travel lane so it's difficult to get in and out of the parking lot.
Imagine my surprise when I saw his plate. Indiana!