Some motherfucker stole my bike. Fucking sawed through the locks on it and everything. It wasn't just any bike; my dad used to ride me around on it when I was a baby, and recently lovingly cleaned up and fixed it up for me to keep. That bike meant a lot to me.
Matt's sister told me about a local guy whose car was returned after having been stolen 50 years, and that miracles do happen, but I'm pretty sure it was probably spray painted a different color and traded for a few hits of smack down by the San Lorenzo River.
I really, really fucking hate junkies.
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