Monday, January 24, 2011

The illusion of safety

When I came back from work tonight, I saw that someone had kicked in my apartment door. The lock was completely broken. I called 911 and then waited thirty minutes until the police arrived. After a cursery ten minutes of looking around, they let me back into my apartment.

It was in shambles. Every single pillow or cushion had been cut open, all my books and DVDs were scattered across the floor. Boxes of comics that had been kept in my closet had been emptied (the geek in my wailing 'Near mint! Near mint!') and my bed had been completely flipped. In the center of the floor, someone had spray-painted a big circle with an X through it.

A short police officer asked me a few questions about any valuables I may have had. Asked from some X-Men comics from the '70s, I have nothing of value. Which was probably why the burglar didn't take anything, the police said. All they were confused about was the x-ed out circle, but they figured it was a new gang sign.

I know why nothing was taken and I know about the symbol, but I didn't tell them. What would I say? "Hey, by the way, I received a mysterious package in the mail a few days ago and this is probably what they were looking for. I probably have to deliver it to a tall, thin man with no face who kills nearly everybody he meets, too." I could probably follow that up with, "Yes, I would like to be locked up in the looney bin."

My parents insisted I stay at their house until the landlady gets a new lock installed.

My only consolation is that I know the burglar didn't find the box. It's somewhere I don't think anyone would look.

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