The Scooter Saga

As some of you may have surmised, there’s trouble in paradise. Namely, my house isn’t IN paradise, isn’t close to paradise, and, in fact, you would need the latest global positioning software to get from my house to the same continental plate as paradise.

It was a matter of time, really, and I don’t want to mislead you into thinking I am shocked by the latest turn of events, but really, enough is enough.

The scooter- my scooter- got stolen Sunday night. Or Monday morning. Hard to tell which, cause the asshole came and got it like, well, like a thief in the night. Marcus Fleminggot caught riding it early yesterday morning. He also happened to have some X in his possession and went to jail. They caught him eight blocks from my house; he lives about the same distance away, too. The waste of oxygen actually told the officer that he thought maybe it was stolen, but hedidn’t take it (“Only guilty man in Shawshank…”).

What type of scum do you have to be to steal someone’s property, punch out the ignition (oh, yes, the scooter is absolutely trashed), rip off the trunk, break the lock to get under the seat, and throw out all their stuff? They also scraped off all the decals and broke every panel on the body as well as the chrome. They ripped off the gas cap and broke the gas tank. Included in the missing is my media pass, a really cool mermaid cigarette case that worked better for holding my business cards, a hat, lip balm, some of my writing clips from the lastest CitiLife, and other things that were mine. Nothing terribly expensive, but they were mine. MINE, dammit. Things I didn’t sell drugs for or cash my girlfriend’s welfare check for, but things I had to work for- I rolled out banners for these things, I sold books for these things, I sat through government meetings and reported on them for these things.

And so, enough is enough. I can’t afford to live this cheaply anymore, I don’t care how low my mortgage payment is, add on the losses- lawnmowers, weedeaters, scooters, old sandals (really), and it ain’t cheap to live here. Also, if I stay here, I’m going to either incite a riot or get the shit kicked out of me. I’ve gotten a really bad attitude the past few days.

The good news is that the house should be on the market by Monday and I’ve gotten quit good at packing.

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I write. I take pictures. I love my dog. I love Florida. My 2016 book, 'Backroads of Paradise' did really well for the publisher and now I feel a ridiculous amount of pressure to finish the second book.