I love Chicago.  I really do.  I love Lyric and Lakeview, and of course the Bean.

That said, sometimes it doesn’t love me back, like for instance the very intense woman that drives the 8:52 CTA 156 bus with the constant yelling, and most recently, the vandals that cracked the Neon’s complex lock system and stole the radio.  It was a hard realization that the Neon had been deflowered in the South Loop, having survived the tough streets of Temple and North Philly, Cleveland, DC, Cincinnati, and brief stints in Jersey – but really just surviving passing through that state is miracle. 

My car and I have been through a lot together – summers in Breck, long drives to Nana, and the occaisional meandering through back roads to heal a broken heart.  More than anything, it hurt to see such disregard for my bubble, the necessities of my life strewn about in no particular fashion.  I know they are a criminal element, but manners are manners, and I’m still shocked at their absence in society.  I suppose it’s wrong for a thief to leave an apology note, “hey, sorry about the mess, I really needed this 5 year old Sony to support my meth habit.”  Call me a dreamer.

I should also add that I’ve recently discovered someone has been living in Media, PA for the past 6 years with my social security number.  I care less about the apology from him, I’d just like my identity returned in the condition it was, and that he is prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.  Or flogging.

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