Square Inch Anthropology

Stuck under the windshield wiper, a strip of cardboard from a cigarette carton becomes a proof of payment for parking in this open space next to a busy street. How is this system vulnerable to manipulation? Could one look around and, if the parking attendant happens not to be looking, figure out what the marker of payment is and "rip one off" (either figuratively with a quick improvised slip, or literally - from another vehicle's windshield)? Could the parking attendant defray risk of being cheated by routinely switching up the type/color/brand of carton? Switching the used recycled/found permission-granting materials entirely?

Did the designer of this parking barrier's "bumpers"  - fashioned from strips of repurposed car tires - have a particular vehicle in mind when they decided where to attach them?

Someone stakes their claim on precious parking in this cramped alleyway by repurposing a wounded chair and a defunct broom. Whose space is this to control - the residents of the building? The first person to put down this type of space-saver? What does it say about a place when a sign is inadequate for reserving one's space? 

In a city without tow-trucks or car-boots, staking this sort of physical claim on one's space is the only dependable option. By someone other than the owner of this chair-broom space reserver moving it, it could count as violating a double-taboo: the physical handling of an object that is not their's to handle, as well as the occupation of a space that is not their's to occupy.