12 January 2009


Emily and I were roused this morning by the Minneapolis Police. Apparently, someone in our building found a man and a woman had broken into our storage closet in the basement and were rummaging through our belongings. Not surprisingly, the couple high-tailed it out of there before the police were summoned.

I imagine the Bonnie and Clyde pair were sad they had gone through all the work of breaking through the door of our locked closet only to find some empty boxes, suitcases, Christmas decorations, and a container of my childhood memories. In fact, given the last item, the duo, in addition to being destitute, may now need therapy.

So, no harm, no foul. The door can be replaced, the lock re-affixed, and life goes on.

Still, it's weird feeling that they rifled through our stuff, even though none of it is particularly valuable (at least to other people). There is a certain amount of violation of the trust: you don't touch my stuff, I won't touch your stuff.

I suppose I should just be grateful that our most prized possession was upstairs with us. Safe and sound and dreaming about squirrels.

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