Got in my car this morning, turned on the ignition, and was met with static from the radio. I looked up to see my satellite receiver missing. My fault. Shouldn’t have left the door open, and I should have parked in the driveway instead of half on the front lawn, half on the street like I’ve been doing. Looks like they also snagged a jar of change I had floating around the back seat. At least they closed the door and didn’t take anything else, not that there was much of value in there apart from the receiver and the change.

Nikki suggested I go to Starbuck’s, which I did. The Venti Black Eye worked great. I reminded myself that I still have a ton of CD’s in my car which I haven’t listened to since I got the satellite. So I blasted Slipknot down the L.I.E. Luckily, traffic wasn’t bad, otherwise I’d have had to switch to John Coltrane.

It was probably some neighborhood kids, but who knows. They’ll probably trade the unit in for some crack. I think they got about $1.25 in quarters I had in the change tray up front too. I do appreciate that they closed the door and all. I’m kind of surprised we didn’t hear them. So much for taking the rural neighborhood for granted. It’s one of those in-between neighborhoods on the North Shore, just a little too far from the city to attract the Manhattan business commuter crowd, and too far from the North Fork to attract the second-home farmland and wine country enthusiasts. So for now, we’re stuck in the middle, until we can afford to move in either direction. Looks like it’s time to set up a punk detection system.