Okay, we get it. You hate us. You think we're white trash, you think that we're excessive with our cell phones and our iPods and our sunglasses. You think I'm the "c" word and you want Andy and I to die. Got it. Thank you.
Please explain to me how this gives you the right to vandalize our home. I know it was you, and you can hide in your house and let it fall down around you until you die (and, in fact, I hope you do and it does until you do) and I will know in my heart that you watched me drive away last night and you walked right over and destroyed the sculpture that used to sit out in front of our home. When we rounded the corner and saw it lying there across our walkway, shattered into 6 large and a million small pieces, we knew right away that it was you. Tell us what you want, hide behind the other people on our block if you must, but we don't have a shred of doubt in our minds.
Let me tell you about that sculpture. It was a beautiful, huge, 50+ pound black soapstone piece made by and given to my husband 13 years ago by Charlie Parsons. Charlie owned the first tattoo studio where Andy and I got work done. Charlie was the minister at our wedding. Charlie was a friend, a mentor, and a father figure to Andy and I. The dissipation of our friendship over the years has been a subject of deep sadness to us both, and that sculpture was a tangible representation of what once was. That piece has been in 6 homes, 3 states, and many states of mind with Andy and I. We have mused on it, been burdened by it, tripped out on its intricacies and obviously taken it for granted for years. You killed all of that, hell, you killed art with your act of maliciousness last night.
I know that you are crazy, and that crazy people do irrational, fucked up things all the time with no warning. You have turned that crazy toward us so many times and in so many ways in the last 5 years, I'm actually surprised that this incident surprised me so very much. But it did. You are a bad person.
I hope that what they say about karma is true.