Sometime yesterday morning, someone walked up my neighbor’s driveway, opened a wooden gate, and smashed a windowpane on a French door, breaking in and burglarizing the home.
It was creepy, frightening, invasive and disgusting. Nobody was injured, but a computer and a TV were stolen.
The house is so close that I can see the burglarized door from my bathroom window. And I have lived here for ten years and I am keenly aware of the ever-present threat of crime that permeates life in Los Angeles.
Last week someone was shot at the intersection of Sepulveda and Victory. That is considered normal and not even worthy of conversation.
The petty crimes are what I see, the quality of life infractions that drive me crazy. People who sit in their cars and then throw food wrappers and sodas into the gutter. Cars that run red lights. Skratchitti etched into public bathroom mirrors and service station gas pumps. Illegal garage sales that go on 52 weekends a year. People living in the street and people walking the street for sex.
But these are outside of the home. When a stranger invades your house, and burglarizes, you feel diminished, weak, vulnerable, angry and dehumanized.
And though ADT and the LAPD tell you there are ways to fool criminals, we all eventually pay for the lawlessness of our city and neighborhoods.