My car got smashed last night. They smashed the window and took nothing. Not even the $3 in change that was in the console. The invader got scared and ran away—Hannah saw him when she was coming into the house. He was running fast down King Street. She just thought he was some crazy kid. It was around dinner time. I was in the house writing on my blog, suspecting nothing.
So it wasn't until this morning, when I went to leave for work that I found my poor little car smashed, wide open and glass-strewn in the pouring rain. I called the police. They came, but there wasn't much they could do, especially in the rain. So Col and I cleaned up the glass and I drove to the service shop with cold, wet wind beating on my face. (It was the driver's window that they smashed.)
Now, $260 later (insurance didn't cover it), I have nothing to show for it. And neither does he. Was it really worth it? Well, I say I have nothing to show for it, but that's not true. My optimism has been scarred for the time being. I'm afraid to go out to my parking lot by myself now. I'll have to ask Col to walk with me to the garbage bin. Wonder what I'll do when he's away?