My baby, that is. 01 Jeep Cherokee. Last year they made them. I wanted one since before I could drive, and finally got her this summer -- low miles, great condition, perfect color. It's stupid that I loved that car this much, especially with all the loss in the world and the Gulf right now. I washed, vacuumed, and Armor-All'd it yesterday, as I thought about how I'd never sell her, how I'd keep her until she was a collector's item and drive her down Woodward in perfect condition when I was 60 years old. Everytime I walked up to that car with no one in earshot, I'd say "hey, beautiful" and just run my hand down those sharp edges on the body.
Went to a Tiger's game, came out to find some broken glass and an empty parking spot. And as a cop, I know what will happen... they'll find it on the side of the road someday, stripped. Nobody will look for it, they'll just notice it someday. Being Detroit, who knows when that'll happen. Every car in that damned city looks abandoned.
My best hope right now is that they'll find it soon, sans stereo and airbags, but otherwise in good condition. I feel like a moron praying for a car, but this helplessness is killing me. All I can do is pray for some peace, and the wisdom to put it in perspective and say "it's only a piece of metal." Holy crap it's hard though. It's eating me up from the inside out, knowing that some piece of **** is probably laughing next to my car as he smokes weed with his buddies and gets ready to pull the next airbag out.
