My parents gave me a car.* I parked the car in my boyfriend’s apartment complex. Then terrorizers broke in and stole my snazzy sound system.

And they left the car door open. Good thing I had nothing in the car.

The door was smashed with fists, I think. I can tell from the fist-sized hole.

These guys were really desperate for some jams. Or money to buy crack. Or jams.
The day the music (in my car) died.

They were kind enough to leave the plastic part on the seat. Kind, thieves.

Anyway, after the anger subsided and I stopped believing the gods are out to destroy me (you see, I’ve only had the used Jeep for about a week), I decided to take action. I found a good, inexpensive place to fix my little window; I’m only $75 poorer and they fixed it in twenty minutes. Not bad. I can hold off on the radio for a while. I don’t mind driving in silence. Life is okay. I figured the thieves had what they wanted and since Pete’s car never gets broken into, that the stereo was all they wanted. Either way, I decided to park far away one night, two streets over in front of houses, a bit more residential, safer.
The next morning, the terrorizers had struck again.

The back window is shattered, but whole, intact even.

Yet, if you look carefully, you’ll notice that there is a hole.
A hole that upon close inspection resembles the head of a screwdriver.

Here’s what I don’t understand: why stab the car with a flat-head screwdriver and then not break-in or try to steal anything. There was nothing in the car, nothing at all. Not even a dime or a piece of trash. I’d just had the whole thing vacuumed. They didn’t break in, but it’s clearly done on purpose. No rock or accidental screw driver throwing contest gone awry explain the damage to the car.

My conclusion? I’m being terrorized.

What else could it be?

I lived in Houston, three blocks away from the address I’m at now, for three years and nothing of mine was ever stolen or damaged, my volkswagen parked outside. I’ve had this car for three weeks and it’s already been attacked by fiends twice––twice!

Well, you know what, Mr. Terrorizers, I don’t care. Go ahead. Break all the windows. Smash. Do what you got to do. I’m still parking on my street. In fact, I’d like to take this moment to thank you. I realize now how much I enjoy driving with only my thoughts (my thoughts of revenge and vigilante justice) to comfort me.

*An extra car was lying around. Dad asked if I wanted it. Sure, I said, sure.