Sunday I rode the bus to Rodeo Beach in the Marin Headlands. I had to ride the bus because my car was slashed and burned on Saturday night. I was riding my bike home around midnight and I saw a police car parked in the middle of my street. As soon as I passed the cops I saw my Volvo. All the windows were shattered, the tires were slashed and the interior was completely torched, drenched, and melted to the bone. Someone had set my car on fire. The fire truck had just left. My car looked like a bombed out shell. It was parked two houses away from my front door. I’m new to the neighborhood and now I don’t feel safe.
On Sunday all I could do is lay curled up on the beach watching the waves crash over and over and over. Loosing my car, and the extreme, senseless violence of it all is overwhelming.
I’d had my Volvo for a while. It was an old car and not worth much by blue book standards, but I never once had to make an unexpected repair. It was a great, reliable, well maintained car with plenty of life left. It’s unlikely that I’ll receive enough insurance money to buy an adequate replacement, without incurring a monthly car payment. My finances as an artist are so tight, and San Francisco is so expensive, it could mean that I’ll have to choose between replacing the car, keeping my studio, or leaving the city altogether.
I’m still in shock as I try to understand how this is impacting my life. All I can do right now is be patient, and let the consequences unfold.