“Oh my god,” were the only words I could say as we approached my vehicle. My friend responded, “Oh, sh*t.”
We had only gone climbing for a couple of hours, but in that short time, a large rock had been thrown into the passenger window of my truck, breaking the glass into a thousand tiny shards. It broke my heart and threw my stomach in loops. Shiny blue-tinted glass covered the asphalt, floor and seat. A hole about the size of a thumb had been punched into the driver’s seat.
I was speechless—my home was robbed. However, I also wasn’t surprised.
My entire life is stored into that truck and despite wanting to believe the best in people, items are oftentimes dangerously visible to strangers. Friends have told me horror stories of their own vehicle-homes being broken into, but it hadn’t yet happened to me until this day.